Soul Warriors
by slickboy444
Summary: Peter's world is rocked when a mysterious warrior named Slayer shows up who is intent on training him to be a real fighter. But along with this man comes demonic figure who wants him to make him and everyone he cares about suffer.
1. Crashing The Party

**Soul Warriors  
Chapter 1: Crashing the Party**

* * *

AN: This is my first Ultimate Spider-Man fic, so bear with me. I've always been a big fan and this is my way of testing the waters of the Spider-Man universe. This takes place just after the Superstar arc and before the Warriors arc. I hope you all like it. Enjoy! 

Summary: As if Peter's life isn't hectic enough, his world is rocked when a mysterious warrior named Slayer shows up who is intent on training him to be a real fighter. But along with this man comes a host of other dark forces. Will he be strong enough to face them? And can he protect his loved ones from forces of darkness as a hero and a warrior?

Pairings: Peter/MJ.

'These mean character thoughts.'

Disclaimer: I don't own Spider-Man. Marvel does. But I do own Slayer. He's all mine.

Remember, this is my first shot at a fic like this, so it's important I get some feedback from you all! Send it to me via email or post it on the fanfiction website. I don't care which you do as long as you REVIEW! Thank you all and enjoy! Slickboy out.

* * *

_I can't believe they make us do this. Typical Parker luck. I finally have a dry spell from all the super-villains and my school decides to throw a pep rally. What a waste. It's been a month since Gwen died and here I am sitting at a pep rally when pep is the last thing in my system. Maybe I need therapy. Thankfully, the best medicine any guy could ask for is sitting right next to me._

"Don't they ever get tired of these things?" said the beautiful Mary Jane Watson, who was sitting right next to Peter Parker in the Midtown High gym.

"Apparently not," remarked Peter, "I guess the principal went tone deaf and takes it out on the students."

"Sweet black revenge," laughed the redhead, "Coming in a form only a respected authority figure could dish out."

"As if I don't know that already," muttered Peter under his breath.

"Oh buck up, tiger," she said, giving him a playful shot in the arm, "Where's your pep?"

"Left it at home with my popularity and school spirit," laughed Peter.

"It's always in the last place you look!"

_Mary has always had a way of cheering me up. Ever since Gwen died, she's been there for me. She was the first person I told about me being Spider-Man. And without her, I don't think I could have made it through some of the battles I've faced. And I'm not afraid to admit that I'm in love with her._

The gym rumbled with the loud chanting of many students, all of which was lead by a squad of cheerleaders and the stars of the Midtown football team. Every year it was the same. The team says they're going all the way, but they barely make it past the first round. Yet still, everybody insisted on raising school spirit.

For Peter Parker, school spirit was the last thing on his mind. After enduring the loss of Gwen Stacy and dealing with some odd encounters with Wolverine and Johnny Storm of the Fantastic Four, he was restless beyond measure. For a while, he even thought about giving up his job as Spider-Man. But in the end, his promise to his late Uncle Ben caught up with him.

It still tore at him, but Mary Jane wouldn't let him think about that now. Taking his hand in hers, she smiled warmly, slipping her arm around his waist and sharing a moment while the rest of the stands erupted into cheers.

"Look on the bright side. We got out of class," she commented.

"Do you always look on the bright side?" quipped Peter.

"If I don't, who will?"

"Not me, that's for sure."

"Oh come on. Is there anything I can do to make you feel better, Peter?"

Peter gave her hand a slight squeeze and smiled warmly at his girlfriend.

"None that you can do in front of all these people," he answered.

"And I thought you were supposed to be daring."

"Only when I'm in character if you know what I mean."

"You're still my hero."

"That's all I need," said Peter, sitting back with his girlfriend and ignoring the mindless spirit of high school pep.

It was hard to believe what superpowers had done to his life. Once a lowly nerd, he was now a nerd who just happened to fight big bad guys in his spare time. That and a job at the bugle made it tough to find time for a girlfriend. Yet MJ stuck with him, even though the hard times. And it was moments like this, sitting together in brief moments of peace that made it all worth while.

* * *

_I can't believe I'm doing this…again! Of all the luck in all the universe, why does mine have to be the worst? It's already killed me once. And it's screwing me over again, I swear! Hell, if this keeps up I'd prefer death over this shit._

"HA! HA! HA! YOU SUCK SLAYER!" yelled an imposing, hideous figure standing atop one of the many skyscrapers of New York in the hot afternoon sun, "YOU'RE GONNA HAVE TO DO BETTER THAN THAT!"

Jack Robinson, the warrior known as Slayer, grit his teeth in a rage. This monster always had a way of making his life more miserable than it already was. His appearance was bad enough. He stood seven feet tall with black, rock-like skin. His body was shrouded in a beat-up black trench-coat with spiked pads on the shoulders and ragged blue jeans. His hands were more like claws, sharpened like knives with red hot edges that could slice through flesh. But the more horrific feature by far was his face. His eyes were a fiery red with only a thin layer of blackened skin around a skull that bore teeth like a shark.

Just looking at this beast was enough to get Jack angry. This creature was the epitome of what he fought against as a warrior for the forces of light. Wielding the power and skill of countless generations of warriors within his blood, his skill with a sword was unparalleled. Atop his hands, two enchanted symbols gave him strong mystical abilities. On his eye, an ancient symbol of the all-seeing eye gave him the ability to see things no mortal could ever see. It was a lot for a mortal man to wield, but it was the only power that could stop creatures like this.

"HOTSHOT!" yelled Slayer, "You ugly son of a demon, you're REALLY getting on my nerves!"

"You almost sound surprised! Hahahahahahaha!"

_I've heard that laugh more times than I can count and it always sends shivers up my spine. I've faced some pretty tough baddies over the years, but few are as bad as this monster._

_His name is Hotshot. He used to be human…a very bad human. He was a psychotic mass murderer who just happened to be lucky enough to be born with the mutant power to draw strength by draining minds. But he soon realized that when his victim was in pain, the intensity was increased tenfold so he became an all-out masochist. The hunger for energy quickly consumed him and inflicting it on innocent people really got him off._

_He could have gone down as one of the most infamous killers of all time, but he got sloppy one night in New Orleans and was gunned down in a swamp. It could have ended there, but his body just HAD to rot in an area once used by a Voodoo witchdoctor to summon demons. _

_From there, his twisted soul drew the attention of an exiled demon named Desolate. This maniacal creature actually had the balls to attempt to overthrow the Prince of Darkness, but failed miserably and was banished. His punishment was to roam the world as a disembodied spirit. But like all crazed beings, the bastard found a loophole and completely merged with the body of a deranged madman._

_He's not some possession an exorcist can get rid of. The immortal demon and the mortal man have merged so completely I don't even know if there's a way to classify the son-of-a-bitch. He breaks all the rules in the realm of mysticism. His soul is blackened by hatred and evil. He derives power from the suffering living things to cast magic no human could ever perform. _

_Worst of all, he can't be killed. Heaven doesn't want him. Hell won't take him. So I, Jack Robinson, am the unlucky bastard who has to deal with him._

Showing off his demon prowess, Hotshot leapt across the building tops, leaving Jack in the dust as his laughs echoed in all directions.

"You go any slower I'm gonna nod off, Jack!" taunted Hotshot, "Come on! I dare ya to catch me!"

"What I wouldn't give for a gallon of whisky right now," muttered Jack as took up the chase.

_I know he's up to something. I can see it. My eye can see anything. Well, at least as much as my messed up human mind can process. I learned that Hotshot rose from the dead yet again and was snooping around the Big Apple. So I didn't waste time in finding him before he could inflict any more suffering. Needless to say, he's not going quietly._

_Now here we are, leaping over rooftops in New York, caught in the same old game. There are so many things I'd rather be doing on a Friday afternoon, but here I am stuck chasing down a renegade demon. That pretty much sums my life story…one round of frustration after the other._

Under the blaring sun, Hotshot landed with a thud on each building, growling with demonic determination as Slayer tried to catch up. Hotshot was frustrated, no doubt. Hell, he hadn't even killed anybody yet. After his last defeat at Slayer's hands, he was in need of a good rejuvenation. He tried to unleash a load of special nerve gas in the subway system. The gas was designed to prolong suffering, which would give him a rush of new strength he could use to inflict further terror.

Slayer just happened to get lucky this time and sense him before he could make a move. But he wasn't going to let that stop him. Even if it meant changing his plans, he wasn't going to be bested again by this pestilent warrior.

"You're losing your touch, Jackie boy!" shot Hotshot as he landed atop an apartment building, "All that drinking must be catching up to you!"

"Even with a hangover I can beat your sorry ass back to Hell, Hotshot!" yelled Slayer, pointing his shining sword at the demonic madman in a threatening gesture.

"Ha! Like Hell could hold me! Face it, warrior! This pathetic world is stuck with me! And I'm gonna make sure I milk it for every last ounce of pain I can dish out!"

Taking back to the chase, Hotshot renewed his death defying leaps across the New York skyline. Only now, he was changing direction. The buildings around them were getting smaller, adding to the danger as Jack noticed more residential structures around him. And it didn't take long before he figured out what the madman had in mind.

"Oh shit," he muttered, trying hard to keep up, "Why do I get the feeling that this isn't going to end well? Oh right…because it never does!"

Hotshot's maniacal laughs echoed strongly as they passed over Hell's Kitchen and neared the crowded residential area of Queens. Stopping on a small building, Hotshot flashed the young warrior an ominous gaze, his demonic expression wrought with hatred and malice.

"You want me, Slayer? I'm right here!" he taunted, "But as long as we're in Queens, why don't we have a little fun?"

"Ah hell," muttered Slayer.

Pushing his warrior skills further, he drew close to the renegade demon. But as they leapt across the small housetops, Slayer's all seeing eye started to glow an ominous red. Hotshot may have been a monster, but he wasn't stupid. And as they neared a large school up ahead, his plans became clear.

* * *

Back in the gym, the mindless pep rally continued. The noise kept reverberating through the confined space, making ears ring and head throb. And for Peter and Mary Jane, enough was enough. 

"Are you deaf yet?" yelled MJ over the noise.

"Not yet! But I'm getting there!" replied Peter.

"Want to ditch and do something better with our youth?"

"What? And miss all this spirit?"

Taking that as a yes, Peter and Mary Jane began making the difficult trek through the crowd. Everybody was still on their feet and cheering for reasons that still escaped them. But they could care less. Right now, a little peace and quiet was in order.

But while the young couple was trying to navigate the crowd, on the roof of the structure, the demon madman known as Hotshot landed with a hard thud. Sensing the noise within, a wide grin spread across his demonic face. With so many innocent youths and so little time the potential was endless, but not if Slayer had anything to say about it.

"A school, Hotshot? Is this how low you've sunk?" shot the mutant warrior as he landed on the roof as well.

"Low? Ha!" scoffed Hotshot, "I was planning on making this whole city suffer, but as long as I'm here I might as well have some fun!"

"Gotta go through me first, demon!" shot Slayer, taking a defensive stance with his sword.

"I was hoping you'd say that!"

Then, in an unexpected show of aggression, Hotshot leapt into the air and pounced upon the mutant warrior. His speed and agility was well beyond anything a human could muster. And even with warrior reflexes, Slayer knew there what was coming next.

"Oh fuck me."

Down in the gym, Peter and MJ were almost at the exit. Then suddenly, he felt a familiar feeling surge through his being.

'Spider sense? Here?!' he wondered.

"Peter?" said MJ, sensing his state, "Are you…"

CRASH!

With a deafening bang, a hole in the roof the size of a car formed, sending Slayer and Hotshot falling into the crowd, landing with a thud in the center of the gym.

"Oh my God!" exclaimed Liz, one of MJ's friends, "Mutants!"

"AHHHHHHHHHH!" screamed Flash Thompson, who was standing closest to Hotshot, "GET IT AWAY FROM ME!"

"Stop screaming like a little girl and let's get out of here!" yelled his friend, Kong as chaos erupted and everybody ran towards the exits.

"NOBODY'S GOING ANYWHERE!" yelled Hotshot, shooting up from the ground, his eyes glowing a fiery red, "YOU LITTLE PUKES ARE GONNA STICK AROUND FOR THE PARTY!"

With glowing hands and a fiery burst, Hotshot cast a demonic spell that incased the whole gym in a shell of fire. Just as people reached the door, the red hot flames shot up, blocking any hope of escape for the bewildered youths. The only one who wasn't running was Peter, who was frantically scanning the area for a way to get out or at least change into his Spider-Man costume. But whatever this thing was, they were at its mercy.

"Oh my God! Oh my God! We're trapped!" cried Liz, having what appeared to be a panic attack.

"Stay with us, Liz!" said MJ over the screams.

"Everybody remain calm!" yelled one of the teachers, "Remain calm and…"

"SHUT UP!" roared Hotshot, ascending into the air in a demonic show of power, "You pot smoking, dry humping, whiny little bitches are gonna keep yelling and screaming! And you're gonna have plenty of reasons when you feel the wrath of Hotshot!"

His demonic voice sent chills down the spines of all those who heard it. Some had fainted while others were cowering in fear at what they were seeing. This monster looked like something straight out of hell. His face resembled that of a skull, but his skin was blackened and his body was covered with armor that looked like it came right from a volcano.

All over his body, there were Hellish images and symbolism. But the most disturbing feature of all was his dark red eye. They gleamed with the fires of hell, burning with the hatred of a demon and a madman.

"Peter," whispered MJ, trying to hold onto Liz, "You have to…"

"I know," said Peter, not letting her finish, "But I can't! We're trapped!"

"Well, it was nice knowing you guys," said Kong, still trying to keep Flash upright.

"Speak for yourself," muttered Peter.

Hotshot reveled in the chaos his presence was causing. But from the hole he created in the impact, a dazed yet conscious Slayer arouse. His head was pounding, but he set that aside upon hearing the muffled screams of innocent kids. Looking around him, the situation did not look good.

"God damn it…" he groaned, "Does this guy try to find ways to piss me off?"

Drawing his glowing sword, Slayer took a warrior's stance, ready to fight to the death if necessary against his rival. But Hotshot was clearly not threatened.

"Oh I'm gonna enjoy this!" growled Hotshot, taking in all the potential pain he could feed off of.

"Bet you won't enjoy THIS!" grunted Slayer as he leapt up and slashed the demonic madman from behind.

"AHHHHHHHHH! YOU LITTLE…"

"Hey, watch it!" interrupted Slayer as he fell to the gym floor, "We are surrounded by kids you know."

Slayer's sudden move drew the attention of the panicked crowd. Some were still trying to get out, but now there was another draw as they watched a mysterious man dressed in strange samurai-like armor do battle with this demonic figure.

He was almost as imposing as Hotshot. He had a strong, well built frame. His blonde hair was messy and untamed. And in his hand was a shining sword, gleaming with the light of purity. And burning in his eyes was the determination of a true warrior.

"Friend of yours?" commented MJ.

"Not to my knowledge," said Peter, mesmerized by the sight.

Upon recovering from the blow, Hotshot's focus was entirely on Slayer. His arch nemesis was the only thing standing in his way from a feeding frenzy of pain and the environmental factor on his side, he grinned menacingly as he ripped a sword of volcanic magma from his chest.

"I knew you were a sick bastard, Hotshot," taunted Slayer, "But to attack a freakin' school in Queens?! During a pep rally?!"

"I wouldn't be talking if I were you, warrior!" shot Hotshot with an annoyed tone, "I don't think you want the death of these kiddies on your mind!"

"What? Just so they can go back to class and sit through lecture after lecture of how they're going to fail in life? Oh yeah, I'm doing them a BIG favor!" said Slayer, his words dripping with sarcasm.

Irked by his comments, the demon madman's temper was sent over the edge and he lunged forth at the young warrior.

"Errrrrahhhhhhhhhhhh!" yelled Hotshot.

In a clash of metal and fire, their swords collided. And with speed all but inhuman, the two adversaries were locked in a bitter fight. Hotshot tried to end it quickly, lunging forth in a stabbing motion. But Slayer saw it coming and countered with a horizontal slash. Hotshot managed to duck, but made himself vulnerable to more and went on the defensive.

This intense show of warrior skill captivated the audience, even if they were trapped in a shell of fire. The speed, skill, and power were nothing short of mesmerizing. Even Peter was impressed.

"Looks like you got competition, tiger," said MJ, not taking her eyes off the fight.

"I don't know, Mary," said Peter, backing away from the fight slightly, "I've got a bad feeling about this."

Slayer kept pushing Hotshot back with his assault. The demon madman tried to counter, but he had used too much power to make the fire shell to counter. Soon, he was backed up to the basketball hoop, stalling as their swords collided and their eyes locked.

"Errrrrrrrr! You're testing my patience, Slayer!" growled Hotshot.

"I have that effect on people," grinned the mutant warrior.

Looking for a way out, a demonic grin formed on his face as he saw a way out. Turning over towards Peter and MJ, his horrid gaze caused the young redhead to freeze in place, paralyzed by terror. And suddenly, an unseen force drew her towards him as the petrifying fear consumed her.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!" she screamed, her body going stiff.

"Mary Jane!" yelled Peter, trying to grab her, but falling short.

Ignoring his pleas, Hotshot held the young woman in a choke hold and held his fiery blade to her neck, effectively stopping Slayer from making any further attacks.

"Oh shit," he muttered, "Not this."

"Don't even try it, Slayer!" yelled Hotshot, gripping the terrified young woman without mercy, "Take one step closer and I'll rip her head off!"

"You're making a big mistake, Hotshot!" warned Slayer, still holding his sword in a ready position.

"I'll risk it," he grinned, "Besides, I know you don't want another death like this on your conscious."

Such words hit Slayer in a mysterious way. He fell silent, lowering his sword as his eyes were locked with that of the young woman. He froze at the fear in her eyes, a look he knew all too well. It brought back a surge of memories, many of which were very painful to him. And through his mind, a single name echoed ominously.

_Layla…_

Knowing he had Slayer right where he wanted him, Hotshot's grip intensified on the young woman. Her suffering would surely make him stronger and nothing would him back, leaving his enemy utterly defenseless.

"Yes. That's it. Give in!" grinned Hotshot, "I'll make sure the screams of every last one of these kids haunts you forever! Starting with this little bitch right here!"

"NO!" yelled Peter.

Ignoring any sense of restraint, he leapt forward with his spider-like agility and drop kicked Hotshot right in the torso.

"Argh!" he yelled, releasing Mary Jane in the process.

"Let her go you sick demented excuse for a Wes Craven knock-off!" yelled Peter, landing a heavy punch on his face.

Peter's outburst shocked even his peers. Nobody could punch that hard or move that fast. Nobody except…Spider-Man. Many minds were going a mile a minute as Peter prepared to punch him again, but this time Hotshot caught his fist and gripped it hard, making him grunt in pain as his demonic skin felt like burning coal.

"You little, shit!" growled Hotshot, "I don't know who you are, but you've just made the top of my list!"

"Ahhhhhhhhhh!" yelled Peter, feeling his hand burn.

"Yes! That's it! Feel the pain! Feel the suffering! It's delicious! I could do this forever!"

"Too bad you're going to have to settle for a few seconds," said Slayer, gripping his sword and springing into action.

While Hotshot was distracted with Peter, Slayer shot forth in a burst of speed and impaled the demon madman with his sword. His window of opportunity was short, but he took that chance and when he felt his blade connect, he knew it paid off.

"Arrrrrrrgh!" yelled Hotshot, releasing Peter's fist as he fell back, "You son of a…"

But before he could finish, Slayer grinned and sent his nemesis packing.

"Later Hotshot," he said, his sword glowing brilliantly as it reacted with the evil aura of Hotshot, "I always knew you were a dropout."

Then, with a grunt of raw determination, two mystical symbols atop Slayer's hands erupted in a flash of white light, fueling the power of his sword as a radiant energy consumed Hotshot. And in the blink of an eye, his demonic form disintegrated along with the fiery shell he had cast upon the gym.

"ERRRRAAHHHH! I WILL GET YOU, SLAYER!" he yelled as his form faded.

And with a flash it was over.

In a fit of exhaustion, Slayer fell to the ground, breathing hard from such exertion. Whatever he just did, it really took a lot out of him. His armor was slightly mangled and there were some noticeable bruises from the fall. But he was alright as the crowd of students gathered around him.

"Dude," said Flash as everybody gazed at the mutant warrior in awe.

"Like seriously," said Liz, staying close to MJ.

Still gripping his hand in pain, Peter returned to MJ's side, not taking his eyes off the mutant warrior. He felt many suspicious eyes on him. He knew he had taken a chance by going after Hotshot. But he didn't have a choice. Now it looked as though his secret was out.

But thankfully, everybody seemed more concerned with the mysterious mutant warrior who had delivered the final blow. He was still breathing hard and he looked pretty hurt. Nevertheless, he remained calm as he grasped his shoulder and stood up.

"Sorry about that, kids," he said, sounding almost casual, "I run with a rough crowd."

Getting no laughs from his remark, Slayer sighed as he gathered himself before the bewildered youths. What they had just seen was difficult to process. A monster like Hotshot had a way of scarring those he came across. And the best way to mend such wounds was to forget they were ever there.

"I know you all have plenty of questions. But believe me, you don't want to know the answers. I'm sorry you all had to be a part of this, but rest assured it'll never haunt you again."

"Haunt us?" said Peter, still grasping his hand, "Who are you? What the hell is all this?!"

Smiling over at the young man who had helped him, the symbol on the mutant warrior's eye began to glow a bright yellow. While he was still in a great deal of discomfort, he gritted his teeth in determination and cast a single spell to end this nightmare once and for all. Before long, the light consumed the area as the world around them began to fade.

"The answer to that is in my all seeing eye. Just look into it and feel its power. And before you know it, you won't remember a thing."

* * *

The next thing Peter knew, he was back in the stands again, sitting next to Mary Jane, listening to a cheering crowd. It felt as though he had just woken up from a nightmare and he hadn't even been asleep. Jolted into this renewed reality, he shot up from his seat and scanned the area. But much to his amazement, he saw nothing out of the ordinary, just a regular Midtown pep rally. 

"Peter? Peter, are you okay?" asked Mary Jane, looking confused by her boyfriend's actions.

"What the…did you see it?!" exclaimed Peter, "Tell me you saw it too!"

"Saw what?" she asked with a confused look, "Peter, you look like you've just seen a ghost."

"But I…"

However, he decided to stop there. Looking down at the hand that had been burned by Hotshot, he found that he didn't have a mark on him. It was as if the whole thing had been a dream. Looking up at the ceiling, there was no hole, no thud, no hint of anything amiss.

It was just too strange. Grasping his head in confusion, he ran out through the crowd in desperate need of some air.

"Peter? Where are you going?" yelled Mary Jane.

"I just…need some air!" he said, short of breath, "I'll call you later!"

"Later? But…"

Her voice quickly faded in the crowed as Peter dashed out into the halls and ran, not looking back as the warm air outside hit his face and he began a frantic walk back to his home in Queens.

Leaving his backpack and books behind, the young man with the powers of a spider tried to make sense out of what had just happened. He walked in a daze, making his way through the familiar streets purely by instinct. He didn't even know he was going home, but he could care less. He just had to get through this mess.

_Oh man. What was that? Did I just have a nightmare without even going to sleep?_

Looking around, Peter scanned the area for any trace of the warrior or the demon. But there was nothing there. Everything was in its place. Nothing was amiss.

Feeling as if the world around him was closing in, his spider powers kicked in and he started leaping across rooftops in an effort to get home faster. It still felt as though a gallon of adrenaline was coursing through his system. He hadn't felt this dazed since Doc Ock kidnapped him. He didn't know what had happened or even if it was real. All he knew is he had to get home.

_Ugh, I must be going crazy. Sane people don't just dream fighting some monster with a guy in a samurai costume and having it all disappear. Maybe my spider powers are finally starting to affect my mind. Maybe I'm going insane just like Norman Osborn. Maybe I'll end up like…_

But it was as this point where he stopped himself. Shaking his head of such thoughts, he landed at the cellar entrance of his house in Queens, wanting nothing more than to collapse in bed.

_No, don't think things like that, Parker. You're just tense. Who wouldn't be after you've lost your parents, your Uncle, your friend, and still fight bad guys with spider powers you never asked for? I just need to mellow out. I need…_

But as he descended into his basement in search of solitude, he was met with a most unexpected sight. Sitting on his trunk with a first aid kit in hand was the mysterious warrior he thought he had just dreamed. He was bare-chested, wrapping his arm with bandages to cover the scar left from the battle that everybody forgot about. And he was just sitting there as if nothing serious had happened.

"No way…" gasped Peter, his eyes wide with shock.

"Hey, you're home early," said Slayer with a grin, "Sorry to bust in, but my arm is killing me. You got any disinfectant? Or at least some booze? Because I could really go for a drink."

* * *

IT'S NO DREAM! DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW! 


	2. Straight Answers

**Soul Warriors  
Chapter 2: Straight Answers**

* * *

Peter Parker was officially confused. On one hand, he was relieved that the epic fight between a warrior and demon/man wasn't his mind playing tricks on him. On the other, the warrior was now sitting in his basement using his first aid kit. Needless to say, he had plenty of questions. But the mysterious warrior just sat there, casually tending wounds.

"Who…who are you?!" Peter demanded.

Getting up off the trunk, the young warrior bowed respectfully and smiled.

"Name's Jack Robinson," he said, "Most people call me Slayer."

"Slayer?" said Peter, not knowing what to think of that, "What are you? A new member of the Ultimates?"

"Hell no. I'm a solo act, just like you," he said, tearing the bandage and securing it to his wound, "And I must say, I was pretty impressed with what I saw back there. Not a lot of people have the guts to lay out Hotshot, especially someone who's only recently dawned a costume."

The contents in Peter's stomach churned mercilessly. That leftover meatloaf he ate for lunch was trying to make a comeback and it probably would have if he wasn't so shocked. He just met this guy, so how could he know his secret?

"You…you know?!" he exclaimed.

"That you're Spider-Man?" said Jack, not making a big deal of it, "Yep."

That was it for Peter.

"I don't believe it!" he said, throwing his arms in the air in a fit of frustration, "Why do I even bother with a secret identity anymore?! It's like everybody I come across just happens to find out! Is it because I'm careless?! Is it because I'm unlucky?! Why can't I just be anonymous like every other good hero?!"

A brief silence fell over the room as Jack stood there with his arms folded and a humored look on his face. Now Peter just felt foolish for going off like that in front of a total stranger. Maybe he was going crazy after all.

"Feel better?" said Jack, trying hard not to laugh.

"Yeah," said Peter, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, "Sorry about that."

"Don't be. We all need to vent. Hell, if I could count how many times I've gone off on a rant, the boys in white would be here in a heartbeat."

"That's…comforting," said Peter, not knowing what to make of that.

Slayer sighed, mentally kicking himself for his lack of social skills. He could fight the forces of darkness, but couldn't carry a decent conversation. And this was just a kid. He didn't expect their paths to cross like this. But after seeing him stand up to Hotshot, he at least owed him an explanation.

"Look, sorry about the intrusion and the mess at the school," said Slayer in a more serious tone, "Things just got a little out of hand."

"That's one way of putting it," muttered Peter, "Who was that psycho anyways?"

"It's a long story," sighed Slayer, "Simply put, he's a deranged psychic masochistic killer who was shot to death only to be reborn from a rogue demon who was banished from Hell. Pain and suffering just happen to get him off, so he tries to inflict as much of it as possible. He feeds off the torment of the innocent to make himself stronger. And on top of that, he can't be killed."

Peter Parker didn't know what to make of a creature like that. He just stared at Slayer blankly, not knowing whether or not to believe him. Then again he had seen his share of the impossible. And near as he could tell, Slayer was dead serious. And with the monster's demonic laugh still echoing in his mind, he gave the stranger the benefit of the doubt.

"Oh uh…wow," he said in a bewildered daze.

"Yeah, he has that effect on people, which is why I had to wipe everybody's memory with a quick reverse spell. They'll all sleep easier not knowing that a monster like him exists."

"That's another thing…" said Peter, getting more curious, "What happened back there? One minute everybody is deadpanned and the next it's like it never happened. What did you do? Are you some sort of entity or god like Thor?"

"Hardly," scoffed Slayer, "I'm from San Francisco believe it or not. And that little ploy was just a magic trick meant to undo the damage done by dark forces. However, spells like that have a way of taking it out of you. That's sorta why I'm using your first aid kit. Don't have enough energy to heal myself."

Further proving his point, the young warrior showed him the back of his hands. On them were a couple of elaborate symbols that looked like a vast blend of Oriental and Latin origin. And as Peter took in their mysterious aura, they began to glow in a soft yellow light.

"See, in addition to being a warrior, I also have the power to tap mystical energy. It helps me in my fight against the forces of darkness. And as you saw with Hotshot, it can be pretty challenging. It's why I operate in the shadows. The less people know about the battles I fight, the better they'll sleep at night."

"So then why do I remember what happened?" said Peter, getting defensive once more, "Everybody else had the luxury of forgetting."

A smile spread across Slayer's face as he approached the young teen. Peter was still suspicious, but he didn't sense any threats. Despite his imposing demeanor, he seemed genuinely sincere as he eyed him with great intrigue.

"Because you're special, Peter Parker," he said in a mysterious tone, "You actually took a stand against Hotshot and survived. Most people who do that die terrible deaths of agony."

"Well else could I have done? That monster threatened my girlfriend!"

"And you defended her…which is more than I could ever boast."

"What do you mean?" asked Peter, noticing a sad shift in his tone.

"Uh…nothing. Forget that last part," said Slayer, shaking his head clean of such unpleasant thoughts, "But the point is you courageously defended your loved ones. And that shows the true heart of a warrior."

Drawn further by this strange man's words, Peter grew more curious. This guy may have been a bit off, but he didn't strike him as someone who took his work lightly. The fact he was actually talking to him in his own house was proof enough that he was no joke. And there was no getting around that magic show he put on earlier. Tricks like that couldn't be normal.

"I'll be frank," he went on, "You're new to this game aren't you?"

"What gave me away? The fact I'm still in high school?" quipped Peter.

"That was the first sign," said Slayer with a smirk, "But honestly, you don't have a lot of fighting experience, do you?"

"Well I do, but mostly on the receiving end. I think they named a toilet after me in middle school for all the swirlies I endured."

"And that's cost you as Spider-Man, hasn't it?" said Slayer, further pushing his point, "You've only been going on instinct, letting your own whim guide you through battles. But that doesn't always work out, does it?"

Diverting his gaze, memories of how Doc Ock beat him up and flew him on a plane to Brazil or when Kingpin knocked him out and threw him out the window came to mind. He was well aware of his lack of skill and bore plenty of scars from it, some more than others. It wasn't like he didn't try to learn some moves, but it was hard when he had to live life both in and out of costume.

"I guess my batting average has some room for improvement," conceded Peter.

"More like a major overhaul," commented Jack, "But I see a lot of potential in that charming wit of yours."

"Sure you're not just seeing a nerd turned super-powered nerd?"

"You'd be surprised what I can see, kid."

The strange mark over his eye suddenly flashed a golden yellow, further showing off the mystical prowess of this mysterious warrior. And while Peter wasn't sure, it hardly looked like a fashion statement.

"You see, this mark symbolizes the power of the all seeing eye," explained the mutant warrior, "I can see through any deception, break through the bounds of distance and time, and look beyond the surface where mortal perception can't tread."

"You know there are a lot of guys who would have a ball with an ability like that," commented Peter with a grin.

"This power is no joke, I assure you," said Jack, the mark glowing brighter, "It's what guides me through the most trying battles. It allows me to attain knowledge no other beings could have. I am limited to what I can see. Learn too much about divine forces and your head will explode…literally. But it has served me well."

"Sounds like a hassle. At least you never have to ask boxers or briefs."

"It helped me see who you really are, didn't it?" said Slayer with a smirk, "Hell, I could use it to find out what kind of underwear your girlfriend had. And it's how I know about your untapped potential."

Peter blushed at his comment, but the mysterious warrior maintained a serious poise. Jack grabbed his armor and slipped it back on. Standing in full warrior attire, he addressed young Peter Parker in a more formal manner. Even if he was just a kid, he was a fellow warrior at heart. And warriors always treated one another with respect.

"So you say I have potential," said Peter, still finding this hard to believe, "I'm flattered, but so what?"

"That, Mr. Parker, leads to the other reason I came here," said Slayer, "Yes, you have potential. But potential alone will get you precisely dick. You've got the skills, courage, and heart. But you don't have an ounce of training. So I propose this…let me show you a few things."

"You mean train me?"

"Exactly," said Slayer in an affirmative tone, "I was taught by the best source of warrior knowledge in the universe. And believe me, I don't impart such knowledge on just anybody. In fact, you'd be my first. But I think you have the right stuff, Parker. You do a lot of good with the amazing abilities you've got. But you could do so much more with training. You have the power. It's just a matter of how you use it."

Peter fell silent, not sure of how to respond. He did have a point though. His skills were antiquated at best. Sure, he could beat down casual thugs without a sweat. But when it came to major baddies like the Kingpin, Norman Osborn, and Doc Ock, he always survived by the skin of his teeth.

The memory of the night he nearly lost MJ to the Green Goblin still haunted him. It was the night when one of his greatest fears had been realized. The people he loved were at risk when he put on his mask. And because of his lack of skill, Uncle Ben might not be the only victim of his failure to act.

He barely knew this guy, but he clearly knew a thing or two about fighting. He held his own against Hotshot in a crowded gymnasium. He was a mystery, but there was something in the way he carried himself that stuck out. He clearly had the know-how. But would learning from him make him a better hero?

"I…I don't know," said Peter, full of uncertainty.

"It's okay," assured Jack, "This is a big decision. It doesn't matter what you choose. It's not my place to interfere with your life. I know you just met me, but if what I saw back at the school was any indication, you have all the necessary components to become a true warrior. That, and maybe there's something else about you, Peter…something that goes beyond just a kid with spider powers."

Slayer's eye flashed bright yellow. It was difficult to comprehend with his mortal mind, but he detected a trace of divinity in his soul. He knew the signs all too well. He had something, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. There were many spirits out there, warrior and non-warrior alike. Slayer was familiar with reincarnated warriors and myths about the legendary Anansi spirit of the spider. He wasn't sure which it was, but he was curious to find out.

For Peter, the thought of being a hero was one thing, but a warrior was something else. Looking at what he had accomplished, it all felt so superficial. He ran around in tights and beat up petty criminals and the occasional super-villain. It would be hard to think of himself as a real hero like the Ultimates or the X-men. And if all this running around didn't make him a hero, then was he really doing Uncle Ben justice? Did that show he was a better person or had learned from his loss?

As a hero, maybe it wouldn't. But as a warrior…it just might.

"So you say you can help me…" said Peter, thinking hard about his choice, "Look, I won't deny I'm new at this. I've already gotten into a world of trouble and it's nearly done me in more times than I care to recall."

"And I can help change that," said Slayer confidently, "You just have to give me a chance."

"I don't know," said Peter with uncertainty, "I've never really taken lessons from somebody. And my life is pretty full as it is."

"Doesn't that make learning all the more vital?" argued Slayer, "If you're going to do good with your powers, shouldn't you use every opportunity you can get instead of relying on instincts and luck? Because I gotta tell you, luck is a rarity in this business."

Slayer made a good point. Peter knew all too well luck was rarely on his side. Even though he had gotten out of many jams by the skin of his teeth, he had paid a high price for his inexperience. He lost Gwen because of it and he almost lost MJ. And if there was any chance at stopping such tragedies he had to take it.

Letting out a deep sigh, Peter finally came to his decision.

"I guess I shouldn't pass this chance up," he said, "Fine, you got yourself a pupil."

"Glad to hear it, Peter," smiled Jack, "Now I don't have to erase you're mind too."

Peter flashed him a strange look.

"Kidding," laughed the mutant warrior, "Is my sense of humor that bad?"

"Could you ask me when you don't have your sword?" quipped Peter.

"Maybe some other time."

Giving him an encouraging punch in the arm, Slayer saw all the workings of a great warrior. He also had a hell of a wit, which promised to make things interesting. It went against his usual way of doing things. He was always strict about keeping everybody he came across at arms length. But there was just something about this kid he couldn't get around. He saw the makings of a true warrior in him, but he had a long way to go before he could earn that title.

"We'll start tomorrow," said Slayer, heading towards the cellar exit.

"Tomorrow?" said Peter warily.

"Yeah, on the roof of the Bugle just before you punch in. We'll go over a few basics and take it from there. Just be ready to give it your all. Nobody ever becomes a great warrior by going at it half assed."

"Oh boy," muttered Peter, "I can't wait."

"You'll be fine," assured Jack as he opened the doors, "You do your part and I'll do mine…warrior's promise."

Being a warrior, Jack took honor very seriously. He never made a vow he didn't intend to keep. And looking back at Peter, he looked forward to seeing where it led him. He was a peculiar kid, but he had a lot of spirit. And that was enough in Jack's mind.

"Um…thanks," said Peter, "Does this mean I should start calling you sensei or something?"

"If you want to feel like the Karate Kid, go ahead," shrugged Jack, "Just stay sharp, Parker. I'll see you around."

Jack was about to make his leave, but before he did there was one last burning matter on Peter's mind.

"Wait!" he said, stopping him just before he stepped out, "Just…one last thing. You know, about that all seeing eye of yours?"

"Oh, you mean your girlfriend's underwear?" smirked the mutant warrior.

"Well uh…" he stammered, blushing profusely.

"Hell, if you really want to know…G-string thong."

Peter's eyes widened with astonishment. Of all the things Slayer was capable of seeing, few could equate to this. As much potential as he had, he was still a teenage boy. They would have to work around that if he was to become a great warrior, but for now it was best to take things one step at a time.

"Damn you're gullible, Parker," he grinned.

And before he could do anything else to embarrass himself, Slayer walked out into the yard, disappearing in a haze of purple mist. It was an amazing tight to a teenage boy from Queens, but he didn't dare deny it any further.

Standing in his cellar, Peter sighed in a fit of exhaustion. It had been a long day, but it had taken a very interesting turn, no less. And whatever this mysterious stranger had to teach him, he had a feeling his life would never be the same.

"Wow. A real samurai wants to teach me to fight," he said to himself with a grin, "Jackie Chan, eat your heart out."

Feeling as though he had enough excitement for the day, Peter rubbed his head and retreated to his computer. But just before he sat down, he heard another knock on the small window next to the cellar door.

"Peter? Peter, are you there? It's me," came a familiar voice.

His ears perking up to the familiar tone, he turned to see MJ staring down into the cellar with a concerned look. Seeing her brought a smile to his face after thinking he was going crazy. And as he opened the doors to let her in, the smile never faded as the beautiful redhead approached him with great concern.

"Hey Mary," he said, trying to sound as though he hadn't just talked to some mystical samurai.

"Hey yourself," she scolded him, "You scared me back there. What the hell happened? Is something wrong?"

Peter was silent for a moment, debating on whether or not he should tell her about what happened. Who would believe that a warrior and a demon fought in the middle of their gym and wiped everybody's minds of the whole thing anyways? Then again, this was MJ. She was the one dating Spiderman, so maybe she deserved the benefit of the doubt.

On the other hand, he was still sorting this out himself. He could barely rationalize it and he was a science nerd. Going over the whole mess in his head, he quickly concluded it would be easier not to try and explain it this time.

"No, everything's fine," he told her, "I just freaked back there."

"Freaked?" questioned MJ.

"Yeah uh…I thought my spider sense was going off again. Turns out pep rallies are just as dangerous as the Kingpin."

"Now you're just being paranoid," said Mary Jane with a laugh.

Her fears seemed to ease as she reached out and touched his forehead, trying to see if he was sick in any way.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I promise you, I'm fine."

"You sure?" she said playfully, "You're not having some mental breakdown that's going to have me calling 911?"

"Not for now," said Peter, returning with similar banter, "Give me till the end of the week. Maybe I'll be crazy then."

"At the rate we're going, I will too. So at least we won't be alone."

"Works for me," said Peter with a warm smile.

The young couple shared another round of laughs. It was times like this Peter was grateful that she had her in his life. Even when he thought he was going crazy, she was there to keep him grounded. And if he wasn't afraid to save her from a real demon, then that was all the assurance he needed.

"So you wanna raid the fridge before my Aunt gets home?" he asked casually.

"Totally!" she said, lacing her arm with his, "You know how to treat a girl to fine cuisine."

"I have to if I'm the amazing Spiderman," smirked Peter.

"Oh just shut up and kiss me."

"Yes ma'am."

* * *

As Peter and Mary Jane sifted through the kitchen for whatever treats they could find, the stress over what happened in the gym soon faded. But while they were enjoying themselves, a dark figure emerged from the shadows of a house across the streets. Like living mist the ominous presence formed slowly, making nearby plants whither and die. And when the shroud solidified, a pair of dark fiery eyes locked onto the Parker house.

"You..." gasped a low, sinister voice, "I know you're in there."

The distinct demonic tone of Hotshot made all life around him shutter. His presence seemed to make all forms of life tremble, as if he embodied death itself. His figure was not as imposing as it was when he faced Slayer. His body was still reeling from defeat. Yet as always, death did not take him from this world.

Heaven hated him. Hell couldn't handle him. The mortal world was the only untamed place he could tread. As a man and a demon, he had the potential to inflict so much suffering. But as always, that meddlesome warrior, Slayer, just had to put a damper on his fun. To him, Slayer would always be a mortal enemy. But he was not the target in his vengeful sights this time.

"Parker…Peter Parker," he growled with seething hatred, "I could have had it. I could have won this time. But you just had to be the hero!"

He desperately wanted to just ambush him while he was in his own home and peel away his flesh until he begged for mercy, but as he stepped into the sunlight, he howled in pain.

"Augh! Damn! Still too weak!" he cursed, grasping his arm, "I swear when I get my hand on that warrior I'll…"

But he stopped himself there, focusing back on the Parker house. As much as he hated Slayer, he wasn't the reason he had lost this time. It was all because of that punk kid. There was something about him, he could feel it. He was no ordinary human. Normal humans don't punch that hard.

This kid was going to be a challenge. He wasn't some run of the mill nobody who he could just torture and feed off of. He was a fighter. He had a real heart. It sickened the demonic madman, but would make his suffering all the more delicious in the end.

"No…Slayer can wait," he grinned to himself, "This kid can't. He's a strong one, I'll give him that. But NOBODY crosses Hotshot and lives to tell about it! NOBODY!"

His black, rock-like skin simmered with heat. Fueled by his rage, he followed the shadows to get a closer look. The kid was in there. He could feel it. But if he was going to make him and Slayer suffer for their pestilence, he was going to have to do a little planning.

"You better watch your back kid," he said, his fiery eyes fixated on the house, "From now on, you're tops on my list for suffering! I'll make you, your girlfriend, and everybody else you care about feel my wrath! I just need to bide my time and build up my strength again. Until then, I'll be watching you Peter Parker. Oh I'll be watching you!"

And in a blackened shroud of mist, the demonic figure faded into the shadows. Yet even as everything became quiet once more, the menacing eyes of Hotshot never diverted from the house of Peter Parker.

He needed time to put himself back together. But being a demon and a man, he had all the time in the universe. He just needed to find the opportunity. Only then would this little punk know the consequences of crossing Hotshot.

* * *

HOTSHOT HAS PETER IN HIS SIGHTS! REVIEW WHILE YOU STILL CAN! 


	3. Training Daze

**Soul Warriors  
Chapter 3: Training Daze**

* * *

Weeks had passed since Peter's first visit from the mysterious warrior known as Slayer. Since then, his unofficial training in the ways of the warrior began with session on the roof of the Daily Bugle three times a week. As if he didn't have enough to deal with from school, work, and home, training with Slayer added a new challenge to his already complicated life. But there was no turning back now. He was officially training to become a warrior. 

Peter quickly learned that Slayer was a tough teacher. He was abrasive, blunt, and demanding. He didn't hold back when they spared or showed him moves. And every time he thought he was getting close to matching his level, he'd throw something new into the mix and push him further. What Slayer lacked in social skills, he made up for in his knowledge of Bushido. Learning to fight like a warrior was one thing, but learning to think like one at the same time added an extra dimension of difficulty. But despite these challenges, Peter was determined to learn it.

However, it did come with a painful price at times.

"Ugh!" grunted Peter as he fell to the hard gravel of the roof again, "Not again."

Peter's limbs were throbbing as he panted hard and pulled himself up. Slayer was still in a combat ready stance. He was teaching Peter some new take-down moves, but he was struggling to put them into practice. But the young warrior was beginning to show signs of fatigue as well, hinting that Peter was making progress in matching his skill.

"You're getting better, Parker," said Slayer approvingly, "But still not good enough."

"You've been saying that for weeks," groaned Peter, "At this rate I'm going to have an intimate relationship with every stone on the roof."

"The ways of the warrior take time to absorb and you've only been at it for a month. So don't be too discouraged."

"I'll stop being discouraged when my arm pops back into its socket," he muttered.

Slayer rolled his eyes as he approached his young friend and checked out his wounds. There was nothing serious, but he had plenty of scratches and no shortage of bruises. He already had scars from previous battles and Slayer wasn't looking to add to them. But if he was going to learn this, he would have to suck it up.

"You'll be fine," he told him callously, "Just remember, your enemies won't be nice enough to give you a breather."

"Don't have to tell me twice. I've already been shot, thrown out of a skyscraper, and trapped on a plane that ended up in Brazil."

"You're lucky that's all that happened to you," said Slayer in a serious tone, "You could be dead and so could your loved ones."

"Don't remind me," said Peter in a morose tone, "I've already lost my uncle and a good friend."

"And you may lose more if you don't learn how to fight like a warrior," said Slayer, taking an offensive stance, "Carrying such burdens are never easy. But they should serve to strengthen you…not weaken you. Again!"

"Wait! What about…"

But Peter didn't get a chance to debate the mutant warrior as he lunged forth and attacked. He was so quick his spider sense barely picked it up, but he was fast enough to block an oncoming roundhouse kick with his shoulder. His body still stung, but he muscled through it and fought back.

"Argh!" he yelled upon feeling the hard blow to his already bruised shoulder.

"Tough it out, Parker! Come on! Fight me!"

With a determined grunt, Peter launched his own attack. Using his spider-like agility, he leaped around his sensei with great speed, hitting him with a barrage of punching combos. He didn't allow Slayer to move around as much this time, which helped him gain the upper hand. But his greater size and strength helped him counter every attack, forcing Peter to change his tactics.

"You want a fight Mr. Samurai? Here's my Crouching Spider Hidden Ass kick!" taunted Peter.

Using the fast paced technique Slayer taught him, Peter hit the mutant warrior with a barrage of kicks. And because of his agility, he could hit him faster and harder than a normal human. Slayer backed towards the center, narrowly avoiding the fast paced attacks. He tried to go on the offensive, but Peter wasn't giving him the chance this time.

"You're the one tasting the pavement this time, Slayer!"

"Don't get cocky," said Slayer with a slight grin.

Peter went in for the victory, leaping onto the air conditioner and shooting himself towards Slayer in a high speed flying kick. But the mutant warrior was ready for him, countering with a perfectly executed spin move that allowed him to grab his leg in mid flight, use his momentum to spin him back around, and fling him into the air conditioner unit.

"Whoa momma!" yelled Peter as he hit the unit, leaving a sizable dent.

THUD!

Peter rubbed his head, groaning in pain as he pulled himself up. He didn't know what hurt more, his body or his pride. He thought he had come close this time, but as always Slayer brought him down to show he was still the student.

"I think that's enough for today," said Slayer, extending his hand to help him up, "You okay?"

"I will when the bells stop ringing in my head," he muttered.

"Sorry, but you left yourself way too open there. You were asking to have your ass handed to you."

"Funny, I thought I just ordered a salad."

"It's nothing to joke about, Peter," said Slayer more seriously, "Give your enemies enough chances and eventually they'll take them. Victory can only be assured when you're the one dictating the odds."

"You make it sound easy. But why does it have to hurt so much?" he groaned.

Slayer grasped the young man's shoulder, looking at him with pride and scorn. He had all the makings of a great warrior, but he was still just a kid. He had a lot to learn if he was going to continue fighting his battles and he still had plenty of growing up to do in terms of knowledge and maturity.

"Peter, as your teacher, I can only teach so much. Being a warrior is not just about being able to pull of quick moves."

"But it sure helps," muttered Peter.

"Only as much as you allow it," the mutant warrior went on, "In the heat of battle, it may not always come down to who has the better moves. More often then not, the victor is the one who thinks on his feet and fights with all his heart and soul."

"And exactly how much of that have I accomplished?" wondered Peter.

"So far…none."

"Yeah, that's encouraging," he groaned.

"Peter, you've got a lot to learn about this line of work," said Slayer, shaking his head in exasperation, "You've got the power, but you have to learn to use it. You're spider powers grant you great strength and that mouth of yours gives you a distinctive edge in the psychological warfare department."

"My mouth, huh? Think I could sell it to the military?" he joked.

"As a weapon of mass destruction," said Slayer with a grin, "But even with these strengths, I can only teach you the technique. It's up to you to find something to take with you into the heart of battle. Only then will you have the power to overcome the challenges that await. Understand?"

Taking a deep breath, Peter shook his head respectfully to the man who had taken the time to show him this new way of thinking.

"I understand."

"Good," said Slayer with a smile, "We're done today."

"Finally!" he said, checking his watch, "Between these sessions, work, and school my social life is becoming endangered."

"You'll tough it out," said Slayer, fixing his armor and hitching his sword over his back.

"Wish I had your confidence," he sighed, still rubbing his neck.

"Wishing is useless. Doing is so much more valuable."

Rolling his eyes, Slayer reached into his pocket and pulled out a small flask of glowing red liquid. Looking over at Peter, it was easy to forget he had a life. Jack's world was a toss up between fighting the forces of darkness and wallowing in booze and hookers during downtime. In addition to these sessions, he deserved a little help.

"Here, you've earned this today," he said, giving him the flask.

"What is it?" said Peter, looking anxiously at the strange liquid, "Please tell me it's not the blood of a werewolf or something."

"Sorry, but I used that stuff up last week," shrugged Slayer, earning him a strange look, "What you've got there is an elixir. It should help ease the pain and give you a boost for your job."

"Really? Like coffee or pep pills?"

"Only without the nasty side effects," said Slayer, walking over towards the ledge, "Trust me, it'll help. 9 out of 10 hookers agree will back me up."

Peter cast the mysterious warrior an odd look. He knew about Slayer's appetite for certain vices, but it was amazing to think that a warrior so strong could also be so wretchedly human. He couldn't help but be curious as to why Jack drowned himself in such things. There had to be a reason. Someone doesn't become an emotional cripple overnight. He remained very closed on the issue, but Peter didn't want to pry. Something told him it was far from pleasant.

"So then…same time this Friday?" said Peter as he drank the elixir.

"I'll be here," said Slayer, standing on the ledge of the building, "Until then, I'm going to see how many hookers I can fuck before my luck catches up to me."

"Uh sure," said Peter awkwardly, "How the hell do you get the money for all stuff anyways?"

"In case you've forgotten, Atlantic City isn't far from here and having an all seeing eye goes a long way in poker and low end lotteries," grinned Jack, "Just need enough to keep me under the radar, that's all. It's easier that way. As long as I've got enough to get me through the night, I'm sane for another day."

"Well good luck with that. Just as long as I can have Saturday free. I promised MJ I'd take her out."

"You do that," said Slayer, casting the young man a smile, "Treat her to something nice. Just remember…"

"I know. Don't tell her about you," muttered Peter, "My lips are sealed."

"Be sure they are," said the mutant warrior as a purple mist arose, consuming his figure until it was out of sight, "Now go on, earn your paycheck, and go home to your family."

"I will."

In a strong gust of wind, the purple mist faded, taking Slayer with it. Peter stood for a moment, gazing upon the area from where the mysterious warrior had disappeared. He had learned a lot from this man, but he still knew very little about what made him tick. But he was going out of his way to help him and that was enough for Peter Parker.

_Man, wish I could get around like that. Oh well. Time to get back to Planet Reality._

Grabbing his backpack he set next to the door, Peter entered the Daily Bugle for his usual afternoon shift. Slipping into a nearby bathroom, he changed into his dress shirt and tie. Checking his appearance, he was surprised to see the bruises from his session already fading.

_Wow. That stuff really works. Guy may be a little offbeat, but he knows how to make a good potion._

Already feeling energized, he descended the stairs to his cube. Checking the clock, he was just on time. But as his usual luck would have it, he ran into his temperamental boss, J. Jonah Jameson.

"Parker! You're late again," he muttered, exhaling cigar smoke in the process.

"Uh, actually I'm right on…"

"Less talking more working, kid," he said, giving him a thick stack of papers, "I need that website up for the big press conference with Nick Fury and his sideshow super team."

"I'll get right on it, sir," said Peter, holding back his groan at the sight of the thick stack of papers.

"Be sure that you do," said Jameson, taking another puff of his cigar, "And get yourself a new watch. We got rules here, you know?"

With one last threatening glance Jameson stormed, leaving a thick trail of cigar smoke. And as Peter let out a hard cough, he shook his head in exasperation. Not only does his boss scold him for being late when he was on time, but he had the gall to blow smoke in his face right in front of a 'Please Don't Smoke' sign.

It was yet another touch of irony in the life of Peter Parker.

* * *

Clouds rolled in over the skies of New York as evening set in. The city that never slept descended into the chaos of rush hour, flooding every major bridge and parkway with traffic. But just off the docks near the George Washington Bridge, a lone boat swayed in the choppy current. 

"They don't pay us enough for this," muttered one of the men on the deck, "Please tell me why we're still our here."

"Because we're under Wilson Fisk's dollar and you know what happens if we don't give him his money's worth," replied the second man at the main helm of the small fishing vessel.

"Wilson Fisk? You mean the same guy who murdered someone with his bear hands on tape and got off because of high priced lawyers?"

"The very same," replied the second man grimly, "And if we're turning in early, you're telling him why."

There was a brief silence between the two men. But even as the wind intensified, they conceded to their predicament.

"We'll give David another hour," sighed the man, "Like it'll do us any good. How anybody could find anything in this muck is beyond me."

"Tell me about it. Whatever it is, it must be valuable for him to keep at this crazy crap shoot."

"As if anything could stay intact long enough in these waters," muttered the captain, "If what the hippies say about this river is half true, it's probably a wad of dust on the bottom of the…"

Suddenly, the line hanging over the end of the boat began twitching, snapping the two men out of their daze.

"What the…is he low on air?" said the panicked skipper.

"No, his tank was filled to last a full hour," said the captain as he scrambled to the edge, "Something must be wrong! Let's drag him up!"

Frantically, the two men pulled at the thick rubber tubing, using a mechanical winch along with brute strength. They weren't sure why they were being signaled, but they weren't taking any chances.

Soon, bubbles began rising from the water along the side of the boat. It was hard to see because of the mucky water and the worsening weather. But through the murky sea, a figure broke the surface.

"Guys! I found it!" exclaimed the diver, frantically swimming towards the boat.

"Found what?" exclaimed the captain as he helped pull him in.

As soon as the man in the diving suit stumbled onto the deck, he set down a small object he had been protectively cradling in his hands. It was gray, wet, and covered in muck from the murky waters. But their excitement was hard to contain.

"Get ready to retire boys!" said the diver with an enthused grin, "Because when Fisk sees this we'll have our own island!"

* * *

Later that night at Fisk Tower in the heart of New York, a mysterious figure in a trench coat walked through the pouring rain into the main lobby. Since it was past business hours, much of the area was dark. But as the security cameras caught a glimpse of the visitor, all the locks disengaged. 

"Identity confirmed. Security clearance granted."

The doors opened for the striking woman. And as she stepped out of the rain, she tossed the trench coat aside, revealing her impressive figure. Bearing tight leather pants and an eye popping top that accentuated every one of her womanly curves, most men would have trembled in her presence. If not for her looks, then definitely for the metal sighs she carried on each hip.

Without a word, she entered the main elevator and hit a series of buttons. Suddenly, a hidden compartment opened.

"Please identify," said a mechanical voice.

"Elektra," she stated firmly.

A small voice reader processed the information and a little red light turned green.

"Identity accepted. Penthouse access granted."

And with a soft hum, the elevator ascended the large tower to the very top. The lights flickered as it passed through the highly secured shaft, yet Elektra remained unafraid as she grasped a small object concealed in an inauspicious handbag. And when the doors finally opened, she arrived in an elaborately decorated bedroom adorned with expensive fixtures and an array of medical equipment.

In the center of the room, a king sized bed dominated the area. And at the side was a large, imposing man looking over an unmoving figure.

"Fisk…" said Elektra, keeping her distance.

"Do you have it?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the figure in the bed.

Without another word, she reached into the bag and pulled out a small stone with ancient text and mysterious images. Turning to see for himself if it was real, the big man many knew as the Kingpin of crime looked upon the relic with his penetrating gaze. For a moment, he said nothing. But as he took in the sight, his face lit up.

"At last…" he said, a smile forming on his face, "The tablet of soul is mine!"

Elektra watched indifferently as Fisk's hands trembled as he held the relic, but even she couldn't help but be curious as to why a man of such power was so worked up over a mere stone.

"What is this thing?" she asked, folding her arms casually.

Turning back to the unmoving figure on the bed, the Kingpin's expression turned to one of sorrow. Speaking not with his usual malice, he took the figure's hand and grasped it gently with his imposing grip.

"It is my wife's last hope for survival."

* * *

Across the city, lightning flashed as the rain fell harder. Atop the imposing buildings of the New York City skyline, the malicious figure of Hotshot loomed over the darkened metropolis. Still drained of strength from his previous fight, he remained in the shadows. His sights never diverted from the punk who crossed him, but he had yet to make his move. He still needed to bide his time. He wasn't going to move in until he had a plan. If this kid was going to suffer, it would have to be absolute. His spirit, his heart, and every fiber of his being must be broken. Until then, he stayed out of sight, keep recovering his strength, and learn about his enemy. 

From what he saw, he had plenty more reason to hate him. Parker was a do-gooder who just so happened to have this great power that he chose to use for good because his precious uncle kicked the bucket. It was so pathetic he wretched just thinking about it. His hatred was further fueled by the discovery that Slayer was training him. That meant two of his most hated foes were working together. And whatever plan he came up with, he would have to ensure it handled both of them.

"God I hate this kid," he mused, watching him as he swung through the rain in his Spider-Man costume, "I completely fucking hate him! Lousy little wannebe! Tries to be a hero just because he feels guilty! This little punk has to suffer! Oh yes! I'm gonna enjoy this one!"

Grunting with frustration, he was tempted to attack him now. But in his current state, he wouldn't make him suffer the way he wanted. He needed an edge. He needed a plan. And until he got it, he was going to stay hidden.

"Bedtime Parker," he said short of breath, "But you better rest up. Because when I'm ready you're gonna…"

Suddenly, the imposing human/demon froze, his evil eyes erupting into a halo of fiery red flames. A new power had arisen. It was strong, potent, and just there for the taking. And it was already in the tangled web of Peter Parker's life.

It was like an early Christmas gift to a very naughty child. And as Hotshot took in the sweet scent of his power, his eyes drifted back to the figure of Spiderman, who was quickly fading in the distance. He was inclined to follow, but had just been given an opportunity too great to pass up.

"The soul stone…the lost power of the ancients! I can't believe it. Of all the pricks to find that piece of shit, it just happens to be the fat-ass who has a grudge against my new greatest enemy! God I love irony!"

Turning away from the swinging figure of Peter Parker, Hotshot disappeared into the darkness. Only this time, he had a destination and a plan.

"Get ready, Peter Parker," his sinister voice echoed through the cold winds, "Your worst nightmare is coming. And everything you've ever fought for…everything you've ever cared about…is going to come crashing down."

* * *

In the grim and gritty streets of Brooklyn, the rain fell mercilessly against the dirty windows of a cheap motel. In one of the many rooms, three attractive women lay naked in a bed, already sleeping soundly. In the bathroom, however, it was far less peaceful. 

"Huaaagggghhhh!" choked Jack as he puked his guts up into the toilet, "Augggghhhhh!"

Bent limply over the bowl, the mutant warrior groaned as he spit up the last contents of his stomach. Wiping his mouth, he flushed the toilet and collapsed against the wall, allowing his insides to collect.

"Mmm…Jack? Are you okay in there?" said one of the naked women from the bedroom.

Grasping his churning stomach, Jack yelled through the closed door.

"I'm fine! You're money's on the table. Go back to sleep."

"Nnn…"

Wiping the cold sweat from his brow, the young man went limp against the wall. Looking in the mirror, he sure didn't look like a proud warrior. He looked like a guy who just went on a six hour bender, banged three hookers, and puked his guts up. As nice as it was to get a release, the hangover kicked his ass more than half the enemies he faced.

"Ugh," he groaned, "That's the last time I mix cocaine, whisky, and ecstasy in the same drink."

Pulling himself up from the floor, he bent over the sink and splashed cold water on his face. His hair was a mess and he was in need of a good shave. Some would have called his behavior self destructive, but to Jack it was the only thing that kept him sane.

"New York City. Hookers, drugs, demons, heroes, and everything in between. This really is the best and worst city in the world."

Rubbing his blood shot eyes he grabbed his boxers and slipped them back on. He was tempted to join the naked women on the bed, but sleep was the last thing on his mind. Right now, he just needed a little peace and quiet to meditate and collect his thoughts.

Suddenly, a hard pain shot through his head.

"Argh!" he grunted, keeling over the sink.

The symbol of the all seeing eye flashed bright red, bombarding his mind with a wave of new images. Still reeling from booze and drugs, he couldn't make sense of it at first. Then, he saw an all too familiar smile.

"Hotshot!" he gasped, seething with hatred, "You evil son of a demon! What are you up to this time?"

Not sticking around to make the same mistake twice, Slayer shook off his hangover and grabbed his things. And with the rain still pouring, he disappeared into a cloud of purple mist.

_Guess I'll have to blow away his sorry ass again. But first, I need to do a little investigating on this so called soul stone._

* * *

WITH SOUL NOW PEOPLE! REVIEW! 


	4. Deal With The Devil

**Soul Warriors  
Chapter 4: Deal With The Devil**

* * *

"Get back! I swear to God I'll blow you stinkin' pigs to hell!"

The blistering voice of Shocker wrought havoc on the street of downtown New York. The high tech, high powered criminal was at it again. He escaped from prison when he had his gear smuggled to him from friends on the outside. Armed with such firepower, he blasted his way free and escaped into the city. Now he was on a rampage through the streets, shooting anything that moved. He was surrounded by police cars on all sides trying to contain him. And in only a few short minutes, the streets turned into a war zone.

"Backup! We need backup!" yelled one of the officers ducking behind a cruiser.

"To hell with backup! We need bigger guns!" yelled his partner.

Shocker shot at anything that moved, trying to clear a path to freedom. He had tried to lay low, but he was in need of some serious funds. He tried starting small, knocking off a few ATMs. But as his luck would have it, a few cops just happened to be passing by and now dozens of New York's finest were on his back. But armed with only pistols, they were completely outgunned.

"I ain't spending one more night in jail!" yelled Shocker, blowing up another cruiser, "So either step aside or…"

Suddenly, he was cut off by a taunting voice from above.

"Wait! I know this one! Just give me a minute! It's on the tip of my tongue!"

The desperate criminal froze at the sound of that familiar tone. His eyes grew bloodshot with rage as he started to panic. Shocker hesitated before turning around, but as soon as he did he was met with the last presence he wanted to see.

"No! NO! Not you again!"

"Aw, you don't like me?" said Spider-Man in a mocking tone, "Does this mean I won't get a Christmas card this year?"

"Errrrrrahhhhhhhhhh!"

Unleashing a new barrage of blasts, Shocker desperately tried to blow the wall-crawlewr away. He had already been thrown in jail on multiple occasions because of him. No matter where he turned to try and strike it big, Spider-Man was there to ruin it. This punk had to pay for all the suffering he caused him. Yet despite his desperation, he couldn't strike the fast moving vigilante. He just kept leaping from buildings to cars, avoiding every blast with Olympic level acrobatics.

"You know, I think this says a lot about the system, don't you?" commented the web-slinger, swinging up from a cruiser just as it blew up, "I throw you in jail all nice and snug with my webs, yet you STILL manage to get out and make a scene!"

"Shut up! Shut up!" yelled Shocker, blowing up the car Spider-Man was perched on, "I could have been living large if it weren't for you!"

"What? I thought the beds in lockup were really comfy?" said Spider-Man as he landed on the side of a building, "Maybe you should try Rykers? I hear it's REALLY nice for guys like you."

Shocker turned up the power and shot towards the building, shattering brick and stone with raw power. But his aim was sloppy as his frustration grew. It made it a lot easier for Peter to get closer, skillfully watching his motions and leaping atop lamp posts and street lights until he was on top of him. And with the skills he learned from Slayer, not a single blast touched him.

"Get away! GET AWAY!" he yelled, blowing street light.

"Sorry Herman, but you've had your tantrum," said Spider-Man, landing on a pile of rubble only twenty feet from him, "Now it's nap time. And if you're good, you just may get some cookies and apple juice when you wake up."

Taking aim, Spider-Man unleashed two lines of webbing. Shocker wasn't quick enough to get out of the way and once his blasters were covered, a massive discharge followed that sent a painful surge through his system.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Covering their eyes from the blinding sparks, nearby onlookers cringed as they watched the hapless villain fall to the pavement. When it was over, the cops emerged from their cover and carefully approached the downed convict. His body twitched, his hair standing up on end from the shocks. He was completely out of it and Peter let out a sigh of relief.

"Well that was easier than usual," he said to himself, "Didn't even burn my costume this time."

But his triumph was short lived as the police moved in and surrounded him and Shocker.

"FREEZE!" yelled one of the officers as they surrounded Shocker and Spider-Man, "Don't move a muscle!"

"Ah some things never change," sighed Spider-Man as he swung away.

"Hey! Get back here! You need to come in for questioning!" yelled one of the lead sergeants.

"Sorry, but I have work too you know. Just take care of the guy who was blowing everything up and try and be more careful about who sends him cakes stuffed with goodies."

The muffled yells of the NYPD faded as Peter swung through the concrete jungle of New York City. As frustrating as it was, the cops still had it out for him. Even when he saved lives, people ran away in terror. It was a universal constant. No matter what happened, Spider-Man just couldn't catch a break.

_Man, how did Herman get his gear back? Do they let criminals buy stuff on Ebay or something? Hope they're more careful this time. Although knowing New York's finest, I he'll get out like he always does. What a world._

Swinging past the familiar streets of downtown, Peter neared the Daily Bugle. It was Monday and he had another session with Slayer scheduled. He was already worn from taking on Shocker, but he had come to accept that the mutant warrior didn't take excuses. As long as he gave him that potion for his efforts, he would be fine.

_Another session and I'm already beat. I need a vacation…like a decade's worth. At least this training is helping. I actually took down Shocker without breaking a sweat. I'm getting faster, stronger, and my wit is even improving. Or maybe that's just from watching Comedy Central. Who knows? Guess I'll see what Samurai Jack has planned for me today._

Landing on the roof, Peter checked his watch. He was late again, but that was a given because of his little detour. He looked around, waiting for the mysterious warrior to show himself. Usually he'd come in with a surprise attack or do something to catch him off guard. Never knowing what to expect from Slayer, he stayed vigilant.

"Hello? Slayer?" he called out, "You there?"

Utter silence followed. Keeping his eyes sharp, Peter scanned the area. Yet still, no traces and no spider sense to hint at any danger.

"Is this another test or something?" he said, "If it is, could we hurry it up? I've got to punch in soon."

There was still no activity, just the echoes of traffic and birds. Peter checked his watch. Now he was starting to get worried. Slayer may have been offbeat, but he was never late for a session. There may have been times he came with a hangover smelling like cigarettes and booze, but he always took their training seriously. Either he was really trying to mess with him this time or he wasn't there at all. And Peter never did take Slayer to be the kind of guy to mess around.

"Okay…if this is a test, it's a tough one. Could you at least give me a sign so I don't feel completely stupid talking to myself?"

This was not like Slayer. Peter knew him well enough to feel it. Checking his watch repeatedly, he awkwardly rubbed his head, feeling foolish for talking to himself.

"I…guess our session's been cancelled," he mused.

It didn't feel right as he took off his mask and changed into his work clothes. He kept looking around, thinking Slayer would pop out at any second. But with each second that passed, that seemed more unlikely.

_I wonder where he is? Did he get wasted and pass out or something? He's about as shy about his drug use as he is about his skill._

Peter took one last look around to make sure before entering the Bugle. Yet Slayer was nowhere to be seen. It gave him a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. This just didn't feel right. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something had to be wrong.

_This is odd even for Slayer. Why do I get the feeling this is some sort of sign? And with my luck, it probably is. I just hope it's not too serious. Please, just this once, let not be too serious._

* * *

Across the vast urban landscape, activity in New York's Chinatown was unusually inactive. Businesses were open, yet few seemed eager to venture out. Nothing seemed amiss on the surface, but there was an ominous sense to some who dared venture out.

Inside one of the many Chinese shops, there was a hidden monastery built into a dingy basement. This area was used by local Buddhists and monks who had ceremonies and gatherings. It had everything from statues of the Buddha to copies of traditional Chinese texts. The room was lit only by candles and the smell of incense hung thick in the air. And meditating at the shrine was the unmoving figure of Jack Robinson.

_Path of Bushido…grace of my ancestors…please aid me in this time of need. _

Raising his hands and placing them upon the shrine, the symbols began to glow ominously. Candles flickered and the air grew dense. Yet Slayer remained motionless.

_Master Yoshinto, embodiment of the warrior spirit…please heed my words. What is this power I saw with my all seeing eye? What is the soul stone?_

The glow of the symbols intensified as the warrior pushed his mortal mind to the limits of human understanding. The statue of the Buddha reflected the soft glow throughout the room, bathing the warrior in an enchanted aura. Suddenly, his all seeing eye flashed bright red and a vision burned through his mind. He saw power…intense and strong. It was thick with chi, but it was not in the hands of the forces of good. This great power was being wielded by another being…one who wielded the forces of darkness with great malice.

His face contorted in discomfort. His mind was strained by the rush of visions. It always put a strain on him, but he ignored the pain and pushed to identify the sources of this darkness. Through the intense power, he saw a pair of sinister red eyes. And under their gaze, a broken figure stood in defeat at the hands of this force. It took a moment to clarify, but through the nearly limitless impediments Slayer saw who it was.

"No…" he gasped, his eyes shooting open with horror, "Hotshot!"

Shooting up from his meditative state, Slayer caught his breath. The glowing stopped and the air grew calm. Yet what Jack saw was burned in his mind.

"Son of a bitch! I've got to do something!"

And with a plan in mind, the purple mist consumed the young warrior and he faded into the shadows with the looming threat of a coming darkness.

* * *

It was early evening as Peter returned from his shift at the Bugle. Jameson kept him later than usual because of the buzz surrounding the Shocker ordeal. Even after he lightened up a bit on the Spider-Man assault, he still had it out for him and made him update the website with some overblown article at how Spider-Man caused more damage than Shocker. But there was little Peter could do without risking his job.

_What a day. School, work, crime fighting…I wonder if the Ultimates get free therapy with their jobs?_

Arriving at his house via web-slinging, Peter slipped into the back yard towards his cellar entrance. He wanted to put his Spider-Man costume away before confronting Aunt May. As tough as it was, he figured she wasn't ready to know just yet. In addition, Peter couldn't risk having her in the line of fire like MJ.

But just as he was about to open the doors, a familiar voice startled him.

"Sorry I missed our session," said Jack, emerging from the shadows, "Ready to make it up? Your Aunt's working late."

"Huh?" said Peter.

"Stand and defend yourself!"

"What?! Hey wait a min-whoa!"

Peter's spider sense barely went off as Slayer lunged forth and attacked. The young vigilante instinctively blocked and countered as Jack had taught him, doing a back flip to put some distance between them.

"Easy there, Jack!" said Peter, holding his hands up in defense, "I just got off work and webbed through rush hour traffic. Can't we just take a rain check on today's session and…"

But Slayer didn't let him finish and launched another attack.

"Warriors don't schedule their battles!" he said, throwing a five punch combo, "Warriors don't get to choose when they occur!"

"Ack! Oh come on! Just this once? I'll bet there are plenty of bars you'd rather be hanging out in."

Ignoring his comments, Slayer grabbed Peter's arm so he couldn't leap away and threw him to the ground in a paralyzing takedown maneuver.

"I could. But I think it's time you face a real test of strength," said Jack with a serious look, "You're good at distracting your enemies with taunts. Let's see how you handle an enemy who knows how to taunt back."

Letting him go, Peter returned to his feet. His arm was sore and his sides were stinging from Slayer's punishing blows. For some reason, he was being extra rough this time. Usually he was pretty serious when it came to training, but not like this. Leaping around and countering wouldn't work this time. Something was clearly different.

"Okay, Slayer! What's going on?" demanded Peter, holding his hands up defensively.

For a moment, the warrior stared him down. He bore the look of a real combatant rather than a teacher. Peter saw it in his eyes. He wasn't holding back this time.

"You blame yourself for your Uncle's death. You feel the same way about Gwen. So you put on a mask and fight the criminals hoping you'll stop it from happening again. Is that right?"

Peter was caught off guard. While Jack knew his past, he never used it in the heat of a battle. And it did get Peter to falter.

"What are you…"

But Slayer went on, launching an attack and hitting Peter with a hard kick to the chest. He fell to the ground with a grunt, but Slayer didn't let up.

"It eats away at your soul every waking moment," he said in a blistering tone, "You lay in bed at night going over every last detail, picking the parts where you could have done something. But in the end you fall asleep to relive it in every excruciating moment."

"Ugh!" grunted Peter as Slayer grabbed his arm and flipped him onto the ground.

Standing over him, Slayer didn't extend his hand to help him like usual. He just loomed over his prone form, continuing his rampant assault.

"You've been Spider-Man for months. You've stopped plenty of criminals, saved plenty of lives, and helped a lot of people. But no matter how much you do for the world, nothing is ever going to bring your Uncle back. NOTHING."

"Okay…" grunted Peter, "You want to play it that way? Then let's go!"

Ignoring his soreness, Peter shot up and hit Slayer with an uppercut. The mutant warrior blocked, but Peter went on to fight with greater fury. He threw a barrage of punches and kicks, flipping over the strong warrior and hitting him from every angle. Yet even when he hit him, Slayer kept on talking.

"With great power comes great responsibility. That's what he told you, right?"

"Erah! Yeah! It was!" yelled Peter with growing rage, pulling off a roundhouse kick, "And I didn't listen when I should have!"

"But you still had doubts, didn't you?" taunted Slayer, "Even after he died, you doubted your worth as a hero and a human being."

Peter didn't quip with any witty remarks. He fought back harder as he countered a double kick combo from Slayer. He never liked thinking about the mistakes he made in life, especially during the course of battle. He was fighting with more intensity than usual, but with that intensity came sloppiness. And Slayer easily exploited it.

"You even thought about giving it up after Gwen died, didn't you?" he went on, "Because of another failure…another string of doubt that dented your resolve."

"Don't…" grunted Peter, his emotions burning from the mention of Gwen, "Please Jack…just don't!"

"You can't run from it," said Slayer, knocking Peter back with a fist to the chest, "Running doesn't make it go away!"

"Rrrrahhh!" yelled Peter, getting right back up and fighting back.

"You torture yourself by living in the past. You keep asking yourself 'what if you had stopped that criminal?' Or 'what if you hadn't let Connors use your DNA?'"

Peter was letting his emotions get the better of him, throwing a fury of punches at the young warrior as if he were Norman Osborn. But Slayer kept his poise, countering with every bit of force. And still, he pushed him.

"Perhaps they would have survived. But did you ever stop and think about the people who may have died because you never became Spider-Man? What about the little girl you saved from that apartment fire? What about the woman you saved from being mugged by those armed men? Wouldn't you be just as responsible for their suffering as your Uncle's?"

It caught Peter off guard again and Slayer used the opportunity to grab his arm and pull him into a choke hold. Peter grunted hard, trying to break free. But Slayer maintained an iron grip, hitting him harder at his seething words.

"Why are you doing this?!" gasped Peter, trying to break free.

"To get you to take a good long look at yourself and why you do what you do!" shot Slayer, "The heart of every warrior is the cause he fights for. Without that, he's just another guy running around in a Halloween costume picking off purse snatchers in between nap time. You fight to atone for past mistakes. You fight as a means of punishing yourself for the one person you couldn't save. Instead of carrying your heart into battle, you carry burdens!"

"Errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!" grunted Peter, unable to break free.

"Everybody has doubts. You think I don't have them too? You think I drown my sorrows in booze and hookers just because I can? I fight for a cause I can't run away from. I fight for something I take pride in. I made a choice just like you. And regardless of my doubts, I see it through. You on the other hand…you only see it as a burden."

Peter had enough. Finally drawing the strength to break free, Peter broke the grapple and hit Slayer with a hard punch to the face. The warrior fell back, but didn't falter. Blocking the following blows, Slayer grabbed Peter's fist and made him hear more.

"You're strong, Peter…a lot more than you think," said Jack, his eye flashing bright yellow, "But a time will come when you'll have to fight knowing you failed everybody. And after you've lost everything, your Aunt, your world, and even MJ, you have to ask yourself…will you be able to keep fighting? Will you be able to carry on?"

As harsh as Slayer's words were, Peter couldn't deny the truth in them. Such thoughts had crossed his mind every time he put on the mask. Yet he never truly confronted it. Just thinking about it affected his focus. It left Slayer with the clear advantage. And with a skilled skeletal manipulation move, Slayer overpowered Peter and he fell to his knees.

"You lost your Uncle, you lost your parents, and you lost Gwen," said Slayer in a deep tone, "But you still have something to come home to, which is more than I can ever say. You have an Aunt who cares for you. You have a beautiful girl who loves you. It should make you stronger, not hinder you with more burdens."

"Augh!" grunted Peter, his wrists bending to Slayer's strength.

"You can't dwell on the deaths of your loved ones every time you go into battle, Peter. What happened to them wasn't your fault. Things happen not because of fate, but because of situation. It unfolds in line to whatever is present. What matters most are the choices we make in the present, not the mistakes we made in the past."

Finally releasing his grip, Peter fell to the ground. Breathing hard, his soreness caught up to him. His muscles burned and his bones throbbed from the beating he endured. And on a mental level, he was in shambles. Slayer tested him on his resolve and he failed miserably.

"You've still got a lot to learn, Parker," said Slayer, relaxing his poise, "But very soon, you may have to make a choice. On one hand you have your responsibilities. On the other you have your doubts. You have the power. It's just a matter of how you use it."

Finally ending the fight, Slayer extended his hand to Peter and helped him up. His harsh words still burned in his mind. Peter had endured many tough sessions with Slayer, but he never faced something like this. Even if it was low, it worked.

"What are you trying to do, Slayer?" said Peter, holding his sore shoulder, "What's this all about? Do you pick everybody a part like this just because you can see everything through that eye of yours?"

Slayer folded his arms and looked back with all seeing eye still flashing bright yellow.

"I'm just giving you something to think about, Parker. Say what you want, but all the training in the world won't make you into a true warrior. You have to find something to fight for that goes beyond a simple guilt trip. There's a lot within your spirit you can't even begin to comprehend. But that's for you to discover. I can't help you find it. I can only point you in the right direction."

Peter was silenced, still embittered yet accepting of the warrior's words. A look of great conflict hung over him, the burdens of his complicated life coming back to haunt him. It was a harsh lesson, but Slayer got his point across.

"This session is over," he said, "I'll see you tomorrow."

And without another word, he disappeared in a haze of purple mist.

"Yeah…see ya, teach. Thanks for kicking my butt. Now I've got even more reason to be sour."

Letting out a groan, Peter entered his cellar and tossed aside his stuff. He was so sore he couldn't even make it up the stairs. Sitting at his desk, he found himself staring at his blank computer screen lost in thought.

"Peter? Peter, where are you?" came a voice from upstairs.

It hardly registered with the young vigilante. His world shaken and his resolve was shaken. Even simple questions were difficult to comprehend.

"I'm down here Aunt May," he replied in a monotone.

"Well come on up," she said from atop the stairs, "I got some take out for dinner."

"I'm not hungry."

"Not hungry? Peter is everything alright?"

Looking at his reflection on the blank computer screen, Peter Parker was far from alright. His distant gaze was wrought with countless thoughts. Slayer had opened many old wounds. They festered more than any physical soreness he could endure. But for the sake of easing Aunt May's worries, he lied.

"I'm fine, Aunt May. I already ate. I just need to catch up on some homework."

Not convinced, May was tempted to go down and talk to him. But in hearing his tone, she it was clear he needed to be alone.

"Fine," she said, "I'll leave the leftovers in the fridge in case you change your mind."

The young vigilante let out a deep sigh. He was tired, sore, and distraught. He could barely call himself a superhero. Slayer had touched on things he never wanted to think about again. But after failing so miserably at confronting them, Peter didn't run from it this time.

_With great power comes great responsibility…it's up to me to use it right. So what am I really fighting for anyways? Why do I put on a mask and do what I do? Why?_

* * *

On the top levels of Fisk Tower, activity remained intense even after the close of business. It was not an easy time for the Kingpin of crime. He hadn't slept in days and his temper was short. Many of his co-workers noticed the shift in his demeanor, but didn't dare question him on it. Yet despite the long hours, Wilson Fisk remained alert as ever, standing in one of the primary labs as a team of men looked over the relic he had recovered.

"Well?" asked the feared crime lord, "What is the verdict, Landon?"

"Still inconclusive, I'm afraid," sighed the lead scientist, Herbert Landon, "The waters from the Hudson have eroded the inscriptions. And if we can't translate it, we can't tap it's so called power."

"Don't you dare say it's 'so called!'" said Fisk in a dark tone, "I bought your company out of bankruptcy and it's only through my good graces that you're still breathing. Either you find a way to tap the stone's power or pay the consequences. And you know full well how severe they'll be."

Swallowing the lump of fear in his throat, Landon turned to his team and continued the tests.

"Okay people, let's try the electro-spectral analyzer again," said Landon.

"We already tried that, sir. It keeps telling us the same thing. That rock is just a hunk of stone."

"I don't care what it says!" shot Landon, "Just get the computers ready and clear the area! We'll be here all night if we have to!"

Leaving Landon to his work, Fisk entered his private elevator and ascended to the top level. It was deeply frustrating. No matter how much money or power he threw at this issue, no progress was being made. Upon reaching the top floor, he retreated to his wife's bedside, taking her hand while the machines keeping her alive hummed ominously with weak signs of activity. Clouds gathered outside and thunder echoed in the distance. The feared Kingpin of crime let his aura of strength down, if only for a second, as held his wife's hand.

"They say your time is running out, my dear," he said to the unconscious woman, "They say you'll be dead within the month. I don't believe that and neither should you."

Lighting flashed, illuminating the ominous room as Fisk gave his wife's hand a firm squeeze.

"They say the stone is nothing but a rock. I still believe it's our last hope. Just stay alive for me, Vanessa. Stay alive long enough for me to tap its power. I don't know how I'll do it, but I'll find a way. I promise you."

More lightning flashed as Wilson Fisk bowed his head in sorrow at the side of the dying woman. He stayed silent, yet strong. Listening to the soft hum of the machines, he stroked his wife's cold skin. She seemed so devoid of life. Every expert that visited said she was beyond hope. Yet he refused to let go. Even in the face of such great odds, he refused to give in.

Suddenly, a dark figure emerged from the shadows. And without fear or trepidation, he approached the infamous crime lord.

"Such a touching scene if I do say so," said the figure in a deep tone, "Who would have thought such a ruthless beast would have a gentle side?"

With a look of great rage, Wilson Fisk rose from his wife's side and approached the foolish intruder. He was tall, imposing man with a strikingly handsome face and an imposing build. He bore a fancy all black Italian suit with a cane tipped with a brilliant red ruby. His shoes were polished and his hair was perfectly slicked back. His eyes were as black as the night itself and his teeth sparking white. Yet Fisk was not impressed. He was the Kingpin and nobody could intimidate the Kingpin.

"You! How did you get in here?! I swear if you've done anything to my wife I'll…"

"Calm yourself, Mr. Fisk," said the figure calmly, "I've done nothing, I assure you. I'm only here because my sources tell me you've uncovered the long sought after soul stone."

Fisk's eyes widened with shock. Few people knew of this relic, his wife being one of them. He didn't know who this man was, but if he knew about the stone then he was ordinary thug.

"How do you know about that? Who are you?!" demanded Fisk.

The lightning flashed, illuminating his sinister face. An ominous grin formed, his devilish demeanor as relaxed as ever. The soul stone was no laughing matter. And whoever he was, he was very confident in approaching this dangerous man.

"Call me…Mr. Smith," he grinned, "I'm here because I think I can help you."

"Help me? How can you help me?" said the skeptical Kingpin of crime.

"I can make it so those scientists stop wasting their time fooling around with their pathetic tools to uncover the lost power within the stone. I and I alone have knowledge that will tap its power. And if you want to save your wife, I propose a little deal."

Every ounce of common sense told Fisk to throw this man out the nearest window. He had a look to him wrought with sinister intent. But as his gaze drifted over his dying wife, desperation won out. Vanessa was dying. He couldn't afford not to take a chance. So against his better judgment, he heard this Mr. Smith out.

"I'm listening…"

* * *

DEAL OR NO DEAL, PLEASE REVIEW! 


	5. Distant Past

**Soul Warriors  
Chapter 5: Distant Past**

* * *

The day after Slayer's impromptu lesson, Peter was out of it. He woke up, ate breakfast, and went to school without saying a word, barely getting a chance to say goodbye to Aunt May. He was still reeling from the beating Slayer gave him last night. It was bad enough his body was sore, but the harsh words of the warrior hung over his mind heavily. And no matter what he did, he couldn't escape it.

_So I'm going to have to make a choice…or something like that. Just what the hell kind of a choice was he talking about? And why now of all time? _

Weaving through the halls of Midtown, Peter got his books out of his locker and prepared for class. He didn't remember doing much homework. Chances are he'd get yet another lecture from his teachers. He used to be so good about getting things done. But with all these complicated thoughts about what he was fighting for going through his mind, homework seemed somewhat trivial.

Suddenly, a football hit him right on his head.

"Whoops! Sorry, Parker! Guess my aim is off," laughed Flash Thompson as he, Kong, and his football buddies laughed.

Flashing them a featureless glance, Peter just walked away. It was not his usual response, but he had too much on his mind and didn't want to waist precious brain cells on brain dead jocks.

"Whoa, not even a frown? What's with him today?" said Kong with a confused look.

"With Parker, who knows?" shrugged Flash, "I swear the guy's a space case. Ever since Gwen died and his Uncle kicked it he's been really messed up."

Some merely shrugged at his logic, but others were not so quick to accept his remarks.

"Yeah, that's REAL sensitive, Flash!" scorned Liz, storming off, "I'll bet you have to compensate for a LOT of shortcomings if you're picking on someone else's suffering!"

Flash was silenced by Liz's harsh words, but the rest of his friends couldn't help but snicker in thinking about what she meant by 'shortcomings.'

"Ooh! Nasty!" laughed Kong.

"Shut up, Kong."

As first period drew near, Peter sat at his desk and started doodling. He drew things like yin/yang symbols, spiders, and other such scribbles. And over and over, Slayer's words echoed in his mind.

"_The heart of every warrior is the cause he fights for. Without that, he's just another guy with a sword."_

Suddenly, he was shook out of his daze by a familiar voice.

"Peter? Hey Peter!" said Mary Jane, shaking him to get his attention, "What the hell happened back there?"

"Huh? What?" he stammered.

"Uh hello? Flash hit you with a football."

"Nothing new there," quipped Peter.

"But not even a comeback? A one-liner? A remark about how his life peaked three weeks ago and why he'll be pumping gas after graduation?"

As much as he needed to laugh, Peter Parker had too much on his mind. He let out a deep sigh and cast his girlfriend a reassuring look. Even though in the back of his mind, he knew she'd see right through it.

"Sorry, MJ. I'm just not in the mood today."

"Aw, what's wrong?" she asked playfully, "Something happen yesterday? Something you want to talk about 'in private' after class?"

Turning back to his doodles, Peter hesitated before answering. Slayer told him many times that it was best not to let people in on his training. It was just one of the warrior's many quirks when it came to remaining anonymous. But Peter still managed a smile, hoping to lay his girlfriend's worries to rest at least for the moment.

"No, just didn't sleep well last night," he told her, "Call it a Parker hangover."

"Right…" grinned MJ, looking unconvinced, "And Captain America wears red, white, and blue as a fashion statement."

Peter shook his head in amusement. Mary Jane always had a way of cheering him up. But it only made him think harder about Slayer's ominous words.

"You sure you're okay?" she asked seriously.

"As sure as any guy as messed up as me can get," he replied.

"If you say so," sighed Mary Jane, "But that doesn't mean I believe you."

"I know."

The bell rang as everybody filed in for class. Looking back over at MJ, Peter smiled. He was lucky to have her in his life. Without her, there was little doubt his life would be a lot bleaker and so would Spider-Man's. But at the same time, Slayer's words came back to haunt him. And even as class began, they echoed in his mind.

"_A time will come when you'll have to fight knowing you failed everybody. And after you've lost everything, your Aunt, your world, and even MJ, you have to ask yourself…will you be able to keep fighting? Will you be able to carry on?"_

* * *

On one of the many piers in New York harbor, Jack Robinson sat on the edge looking out over the busy waters in a daze. It was rare moment of peace for the young warrior. He always enjoyed scenes like this over harbors. They reminded him of his home back in San Francisco. Watching boats come and go through the choppy waters, his mind drifted as he sat in a meditative position trying to get some answers.

_Just like back home…except the Golden Gate looks a lot better at sunrise._

Closing his eyes and holding his hands together, he chanted in an ancient mantra. The symbols on his hands glowed softly and the mark over his eye flashed yellow. His face contorted in discomfort as a rush of images surged through his mind. Yet there was nothing in the visions that he hadn't already seen before.

"Damn!" he cursed, "Something's blocking me out. Or more likely…someone."

Rubbing his sore head, he got up and stood over the peer looking out towards the George Washington Bridge. Standing in a daze, a look of great sorrow fell upon his face. And through his great strength and unparalleled skill, a tear fell down his face. Memories of the past still haunted his twisted mind. Mixed in the powers of the all seeing eye and the limitations of his fragile human mind, his poise sunk to the harsh reality that was his life.

"Can't give up…" he mused, "I won't let it happen again!"

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a lotus blossom and carefully set it in the choppy waters. The gentle fragrance brought back some of the rare pleasant memories of his life. There weren't many, but they were worth hanging onto. As the flower drifted away, the warrior clutched his fists in determination. Whatever this power was, he was going to stop it.

_Layla…I promised you. And I swear on my honor, I won't let you down again._

* * *

The bell rang for lunch and Peter and Mary Jane met outside on one of the picnic tables under the shade of a tree. The first part of his day went by in a blur and Peter was still out of it. He put on his usual ruse so it wouldn't show, but that didn't stop some of his teachers from scolding him for not paying attention. And now that she had the chance, Mary Jane was there to confront him.

"So…" said MJ.

"So what?" he said, biting into his sandwich.

"So are you gonna tell me or am I going to have to throw a tantrum?"

"What are you, four?" laughed Peter.

"I may have to be if you keep acting this stubborn."

Peter smiled, but still hesitated. He didn't like keeping secrets from Mary Jane. Besides, it was impossible to lie to her when she knew him so well. But still, Peter remained reluctant.

"Come on, tiger," she said more seriously, "I swear, you can tell me anything. What's wrong?"

Taking a deep breath, Peter set his food down and faced his girlfriend. He didn't want to give her the whole story, but he was sick of holding it in. Besides, he wasn't getting anywhere thinking about this. Maybe MJ could offer some insight.

"Mary…remember the night when the Green Goblin abducted you?" he began anxiously.

"As if I could forget," muttered Mary Jane, "Why do you ask?"

"It's just that…I've been doing a lot of thinking," mused Peter, his tone growing more distant, "I've been wondering what would have happened if I didn't save you."

"Didn't save me?"

"Yeah, as in I failed and you died because of me."

His tone becoming more strained, Mary Jane scooted in closer, slipping an arm around his waist and giving him a firm hug. He relaxed in her warmth, but was still filled inner turmoil.

"But you didn't fail," she reminded him.

"I know, but what if I did?" he went on, "Maybe I succeeded last time, but what about next time? Or the time after that? It only takes one mistake and I'll have another burden to carry for the rest of my life."

"Peter…"

"I'm serious, Mary!" said Peter, getting more hysterical, "There may come a day when I do fail. And if that day comes and you and Aunt May pay the price…I'm not sure I could carry on as Spider-Man or Peter Parker for that matter."

His head sinking in a fit of uncertainty, Peter took his girlfriend's hand and gave it a firm squeeze. Mary Jane tried to be there, but she could still feel so much distress.

"Is that what's been bothering you? Thinking about all these horrible things that only 'might' happen?"

"It's not just that," said Peter, shaking his head, "MJ…do you think I'm a hero?"

"You saved a pretty girl from a big green monster," quipped Mary Jane with a humored grin, "Isn't that the definition of a hero?"

"Maybe to some…" mused Peter, "But looking at other heroes like the Ultimates, the X-men, and the Fantastic Four I can't help but wonder whether I'm a hero or just some kid running around in a costume."

"Now you're just reading too much into the Bugle," said Mary Jane, sounding more worried.

"Well maybe there was some truth to ol' Jameson's words," said Peter, "Maybe I am just a guy hiding under a mask."

"But you do that to protect the people you care about," argued MJ, "You said it yourself."

"I know I said it, but that's not the whole reason," he sighed, "What if I didn't have a family or girlfriend to protect? Would I still wear one then?"

"Well let's hope it never comes to that," said Mary Jane.

"I pray it never does. But when I think about it, I keep seeing myself as hiding behind that mask even when there's nothing left to hide from. And you know what that says about me?"

"What?"

"I'm afraid," said Peter in shame, "I'm afraid of being a real hero."

Mary Jane looked at the young vigilante with shock. Peter had never gone this overboard before. She knew he had his doubts, especially after Gwen died. But she had no idea it was this bad. There was never any doubt to MJ that he was a hero, but Peter didn't see it that way. All he saw were failures.

"How can you say that, Peter? After all the people you've helped, me included, how can you think you're not a hero?"

"Because I never would have saved all those people if I didn't have Uncle Ben's death on my conscious," he said grimly, "If he had lived, those people would have died and I wouldn't have lost a second of sleep over it. And I…I don't know how to feel about that."

"You're dwelling on this too much, Peter!" said Mary Jane, growing increasingly frustrated, "The point is you DID save those people."

"But that doesn't make me a hero. It just makes me a kid who feels guilty for not doing the right thing when he should have."

Mary Jane wasn't sure how to respond to something like this. She wasn't a costumed crime fighter. Diverting his gaze, Peter was at a loss. She couldn't possibly understand. Nothing she said seemed to do Peter any good. It was frustrating beyond definition and it hit Mary Jane hard.

"So I guess I was one of those people?" she said bitterly, "Did you save me from Norman Osborn just because you were guilty?"

"Mary…"

"Don't start again, Peter!" she muttered, gathering her food and walking away, "It sounds like you need to be thinking. You've clearly forgotten. Come back to me when you finally get your head out of your ass."

"Mary Jane!" he called out.

But it was no use. Mary Jane was already gone and Peter was left alone with all the more reason to hang his head low.

_Way to go, Parker. You just pushed away the one person in the world you can confide in. Why don't you go home and yell at Aunt May for giving you too many hugs?_

Feeling even lower than before, Peter grabbed his sandwich and took another bite. He let out a sigh of defeat and pulled back into his own lost world. It was pathetic. Doc Ock, Shocker, and Norman Osborn could hit him hard, but only he could make himself feel this miserable. He was his own worst enemy in a ways and he just took it out on the girl he loved.

"That's some relationship you've got there," came a voice from under the tree, "Jerry Springer must have you guys on speed dial."

Turning to see the warrior leaning casually against the tree, Peter cast a disgruntled look and turned back to his food. Slayer expected as such. He arrived in his less formal attire. Instead of his armor, he was wearing a pair of torn jeans and a vintage San Francisco 49ers football jersey with the number sixteen and the name of Joe Montana on the back. He could have come as a warrior, but he needed to talk to Peter man-to-man, not teacher to student.

"What do you want? Come to kick my ass and rip me apart again?"

"With a hangover strong enough to down a rhino? I'll pass," quipped Slayer.

Stepping into the sunlight, Slayer sat besides Peter at the picnic table while he ate his food. Peter still wasn't making eye contact, but Slayer could hardly blame him. He sat there staring into the distance, waiting for one of them to break the silence. Never one for conversation, the young warrior just stared out into space.

"Aren't you going to say something?" asked Peter.

"I don't know," shrugged Slayer, "What should I say?"

"Oh, I don't know. How about 'gee Peter, I'm sorry for causing you so much grief yesterday.' Or how about 'are you feeling any better after the pounding I gave you?'"

"That's not how you teach a warrior," said Slayer seriously, "No warrior in the history of the universe has ever attained greatness without confronting the cold hard truth and getting the wind knocked out of his spirit."

"Sounds like a hell of a motivation technique," muttered Peter, "Maybe you should copyright it and make your own infomercial."

"It was necessary, Peter."

"Yeah, yeah. It's the way of the warrior," said Peter, his words dripping with sarcasm, "You can only learn by having your ass handed to you on a regular basis."

Sensing his stubborn mood, Slayer fell silent. His communication skills were by far his weakest. He could take on demons and madmen, but he couldn't hold a decent conversation. Peter was used to being frustrated like this, but the warrior didn't let it persist. Even if he was an emotional cripple, he tried for the sake of holding on to the first real friend he had in a long time.

"You're really lucky, Peter," he said, "You've got a nice life here."

"Uh…thanks," muttered Peter, "Maybe you didn't see it with that eye of yours, but my parents are dead, I work for a jerk, and I just had a fight with my girlfriend."

"You'll make up. She loves you too much and you love her," said Slayer, forcing a smile.

"That eye of yours can see even that?" scoffed Peter.

"No, I just happen to know the signs," mused the warrior, "The way you look at her…the way she looks at you. You see each other and you feel completely vulnerable. Every barrier you put up around yourself crumbles under her gaze and you just want to take her in your arms and never let her go because you're afraid it's just a wonderful dream and you'll wake up the second you feel real happiness."

His words struck Peter strongly. Growing curious, he set his food town and turned to the mysterious warrior. He still had that thousand-mile stare in his eyes, not turning to face him. Now he was the one in a daze ranting on like the drunken nobody he was.

"You think your life his so horrible, but no matter how bad your day goes you come home to an Aunt who will sooth away your pain. You come home to a beautiful girl who will hold you in your darkest hour. That's a strength I'll never match."

Holding his head low, Peter's disgruntle look faded. Jack was a complicated man, but he was serious. He was usually very quiet when it came to emotional issues, but not this time. And from what Peter could make out, he started piecing a few things together about the enigmatic figure that had so suddenly entered his life.

"Were you ever in love?" he asked seriously.

A look of great pain fell on Jack Robinson's face. He could take hits by monsters and get back up, ready to fight. But whenever he dwelled on this, he was as weak as an old man.

"I was…once," he said, his voice heavily strained, "In fact I was around your age when it happened."

Not knowing what more to say, Peter listened. He couldn't believe a guy so strong who spent his free time getting drunk and banging hookers could be such a wreck. But looking at him now, he was completely vulnerable. He was not just the warrior, Slayer. He was Jack Robinson, a lonely broken shell of a man.

"It was a feeling that had no equal. It was as if God put an angel on this world just for me. I grew up without parents and spent most of my life living in shit holes on the streets, but having her by my side made all that pain go away. Her name…was Layla."

Slayer had to stop when he said the name he so rarely uttered. Yet he confided in Peter because he had a right to know as his pupil. Looking at him, there were so many similarities between them. They lost their parents, lived a life of great strife, and had power they never asked for. But there was only so much this young teen could understand.

"What happened to her?" said Peter, sensing it had to be bad.

"She died," said Jack, swallowing the hard lump in his throat, "She died in the worst imaginable way…right in front of my eyes. I watched her suffer until her last breath. Even when she kept crying out to me I couldn't do anything. I failed her. I failed her in the same way you failed your Uncle Ben."

It was new to Peter, but it finally made sense. Slayer was an emotional cripple with great physical prowess. But he fought his battles with a broken heart. No wonder he kept to himself. And of all the people he could have taught, he chose Peter. And now he was beginning to understand why.

"I…I had no idea," said Peter with a hint of remorse, "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, Peter," he said, trying to hide the strain, "It's my burden, not yours. You didn't fail the woman you love. And that is why I can never be as strong or as driven as you could be if you just stopped being afraid."

Slayer got up and turned away. He hid his conflicted look from Peter, not wanting to show it to anybody.

"You hide behind a mask for many reasons, but you don't run from it. That much you should be proud of."

"So then why pick at me like this?" asked Peter, "I was doing pretty well by myself before you gave me all this crap to think about."

"Because something is coming, Peter," warned the warrior, "I've been having visions."

"Visions?"

"Yes, visions of a new power with you at the center of it," said Slayer with an assertive gesture, "And if you face such challenges without having confronted your greatest weaknesses, then you and your loved ones may not make it out this time."

Peter's lunch began to churn in his stomach. Conversation skills aside, Slayer was no liar. He didn't say make jokes when it came to threats. And after seeing the kind of forces he faced in Hotshot, Peter dreaded having to face another.

"What kind of threat are you talking about? And why does it involve me?"

With a defeated sigh, Slayer shook his head in remorse.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know."

"You don't know?!" exclaimed Peter, "I thought that eye of yours could see everything!"

"Only as much as my human limitations," reminded Jack, "There's only so much I can process without lobotomizing myself."

"So there's nothing you can do?!"

"No, there's plenty," said the warrior strongly, "The most important of which is to prepare you for the worst."

"But what about my aunt or my girlfriend?!" yelled Peter.

"That I don't know either," said Slayer, grabbing the younger man's shoulders and trying to calm him down, "But I do know this…whatever this power may be, you're strong enough to face it. You just have to set aside all fears, doubts, and concerns and find that which truly drives you from within."

His lunch was primed to make a comeback. In his current state he probably wouldn't be able to handle a purse snatcher, let alone some other great challenge. But despite his disheveled state, he swallowed the bile in his throat and tried to stand strong.

"That'll be a mind job," he sighed, "Will you at least help me?"

"I'll keep my eye open," said Slayer, the purple mist surrounding him, "But I can only do so much, Peter Parker. When it comes to finding the warrior spirit within, I can only guide. It's up to you to find your path."

The cloud surrounded his figure and without another word, Slayer vanished. He left behind a dazed and uncertain Peter Parker. Bearing this new knowledge, he was back at square one. Sitting back on the picnic table, he set his food aside and rested his head in his arms. He was a teenage guy living in a complicated world of spider powers, demons, and super-villains. Clearly, Peter had a lot to think about. And if this was as serious as Slayer said it was he had to think fast.

_Great…nothing like a little pressure to put my brain on the fritz. What does he expect me to do? Am I just supposed to wake up one morning and find my inner warrior? And what the hell is so dangerous that he's given me this crap to think about?_

Groaning in frustration, Peter gathered his backpack and went back inside. It was obvious he wasn't going to find the answers today. His confidence was already shaken after Gwen. Now he had another test on the horizon.

_Ugh, now I understand why Jack drinks so much. Who wouldn't after thinking about this stuff? I just hope that whatever this threat is, I can stop it before it gets too bad._

* * *

As evening set in and a full moon hung over the New York City skyline, activity atop Fisk Tower was going strong. Wilson Fisk had not shown up to any meetings or issued any orders, a rare occurrence for the Kingpin of crime. Instead, he spent the day by his wife's bedside while the mysterious Mr. Smith worked on the stone. Vanessa's condition wasn't getting any better. Her time was short and this strange figure was his only hope. He spent most of his time reading over the text on the stone and doing strange chants, but nothing had come of it yet. Fisk still didn't trust this guy, but for Vanessa's sake he let him work.

"How much longer?" he asked impatiently.

"Patience, Mr. Fisk," said Smith, "I'm getting close."

"You said that three hours ago!"

"And I'll say it again if I have to," he said calmly, "This process cannot be rushed. The power of this stone is too great. I'm beginning to see why your wife believed in it so."

Fisk's gaze diverted to the life support readings on the machines keeping Vanessa alive. They didn't look good. He wasn't sure if she would last the night and this strange figure looked as though he could care less. But he remained strong as the Kingpin should.

Suddenly, a strange smile spread across the dark figure's face. Rubbing his hand over the relic, a new sense of excitement filled him.

"Ah yes…I see it now. It's all beginning to make sense."

"What is?" said Fisk hopefully, "Have you figured it out?"

"I believe I have," said Smith, picking up the stone and carrying it to Vanessa's bedside, "The text was damaged and written ambiguously, but the meaning is clear. This stone most certainly has the power to heal your wife."

Fisk's eyes widened at the prospect. Even if he had a bad feeling about this figure, saving Vanessa took priority over suspicions.

"How do we use it? She doesn't have much time!" bellowed Fisk impatiently.

"She has enough," assured Mr. Smith, "Her illness is of no concern in using this stone. In fact, no illness is sufficient to beat this power…even death."

"Death? Just what the hell kind of power is this?"

"A very strong one," said the figure, the grin widening, "You see, the stone acts as sort of a conduit for spiritual energy…namely the soul. In the hands of a skilled user, the stone can nourish one's soul to a point far greater than any natural stimulus. And rich with soul, any and all illness can be conquered."

It was the miracle Fisk had been hoping for. Vanessa had faith in this power and now he knew why. The power of the soul laced in a relic so small was a force to be reckoned with and using power was what the Kingpin did best. But first, he had a wife to heal.

"Then what are you waiting for?" he said, approaching the figure, "Use it to save, Vanessa!"

An insidious grin formed on the dark man's face. Fisk was growing deeply annoyed, but even the Kingpin of crime could not intimidate this man.

"Are you certain this is the course you wish to take?" asked Mr. Smith casually, "I must warn you, I am not a charity. I will not perform this service for free."

"Save my wife and you will be handsomely rewarded," said the Kingpin sternly, "I run this city. I don't care about the price. Just save her!"

His decision final, Mr. Smith gripped the stone and smiled.

"Very well. You have yourself a deal. I'll save your wife. We'll discuss my reward afterwards. Just stand back and let me work."

Casting the figure a warning glance, Fisk retreated to the corner while Mr. Smith stood over the dying woman. With the stone in hand, he closed his eyes and held it over the bed. For a moment, there was only silence. Smith gathered his focus, concentrating hard as he began to grunt with demonic evil. Yet Fisk ignored it. He didn't care if this man was the devil himself. He just wanted to save his wife.

"Great power of the ancients, relic of the spirit, tool of the divine…heed my words and give me the power I crave!"

The air grew tense, the temperature dropping fifteen degrees. It sent a shiver down the Kingpin's spine, but he watched on as Mr. Smith chanted over his wife's body.

"Energy of life! Energy of death! May the power of the soul stone flow through my being! Grant me the authority over the soul! This I pray to thee!"

Suddenly, a gust of wind emerged around the bed. Even with the windows closed and the night crystal clear outside, it was like a raging storm. Then, as Mr. Smith chanted in the language of the inscriptions on the stone, the relic began to glow with radiant, rainbow-like brilliance.

"Yes! I feel it! Now hear the words of the ancients! May this power merge with my being! The power over all souls and essence, COME UNTO ME!"

A whirlwind of blue clouds formed over Vanessa's bed, sparking with lightning of all colors. The lights flickered and the machines keeping her alive short circuited. Fisk was growing concerned. He had seen a lot in his days as the Kingpin, but none were quite this spectacular. And looking at Vanessa's dying form, he had seen enough.

"Stop it! You'll kill her!" yelled Kingpin.

But Mr. Smith didn't stop. He kept chanting in a mysterious language. And the more he chanted, the brighter the stone glowed. Soon, it was too bright for Fisk to look at. He was forced to cover his eyes and looked away, not knowing what was to come. The light consumed the room, centering completely around Smith and Vanessa. Then suddenly, it came to a stop in the blink of an eye.

"YESSSSSSSSS!" proclaimed Smith, "I FEEL IT!"

Opening his eyes, Fisk turned to see a rainbow-like glow surrounding Smith and his wife. Then, with glowing eyes, Smith unleashed a white light from the relic, inundating Vanessa Fisk in an aura of radiance. Fisk could only watch, but knew this would be it.

"The power is mine! Power over the soul! Mine for the wielding! And by this great power, I heal this broken mortal!"

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

The anguished cries of Vanessa sent Fisk into a rage. Light show or not, if he was hurting her then no force on the planet would keep him from making this man suffer. But before he could make a move, the light faded. Lights came back on and the clouds disappeared. All that remained glowing was the stone, still secure in the hands of Mr. Smith.

"W-Wilson?" came a voice.

"Vanessa?" said Fisk, not believing his eyes.

It was a miracle. She was alive. Gone was her sickly form, replaced by a beautiful radiant woman. She looked as healthy as the day she was born, her skin flushed with life and her body strong with vigor. Vanessa Fisk had been healed. And Wilson Fisk once again got what he wanted.

"It…it worked!" he exclaimed, running to his wife's side, "The stone worked!"

"The stone?" she said with an anxious look, "Wilson what's going…"

Suddenly, a renewed burst of light erupted from the stone and the mysterious Mr. Smith was consumed in a fiery haze.

"No…" gasped Vanessa, falling into a daze.

"Vanessa!" yelled Wilson.

"Belongs to me!" came a low, demonic tone.

Suddenly, Fisk felt himself lifted as if he were light as a feather and thrown against the wall. His imposing body slammed against the wall and he lay helpless as the power within the rooms swirled in a torrent of energy. The lights flickered as the glowing aura surrounding the figure intensified. All the while, Vanessa Fisk's eyes glowed dark red, standing besides the figure as emotionless as a statue.

"Smith! What is this?! What's going on?!" demanded the Kingpin.

But he got no response. Instead, an insidious laugh echoed through the room. It was evil enough to strike fear into anybody, even the Kingpin. Slowly, the light began to fade and a new figure was revealed. Fisk watched in horror, the human figure of Mr. Smith now gone and standing before him was no more man than he was demon.

"No…not Smith!" shot the sinister figure, "Call me Hotshot, fat boy! I've got your wife's soul! And soon I'll have everybody's soul! With this power I'm gonna make this world suffer! And it's all thanks to you! Ahahahahahahahahahaha!"

* * *

HOTSHOT IS BACK! DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW! 


	6. Soul Snatcher

**Soul Warriors  
Chapter 6: Soul Snatcher**

* * *

Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin of crime, had faced some unsavory characters in his life. He had done business with ruthless killers, mutant terrorists, and dangerous crime lords of all kinds. And he had overcome all of them. But they none of them could compare to the horrific figure he was looking at right now.

"You!" gasped Fisk in horror, "What the hell are you?!"

The demonic being known as Hotshot stood in a glowing aura, firmly grasping the soul stone. Invigorated with new power, his size increased and his blackened demonic muscles grew with new strength. His eyes burned brightly with hellish flame and a horrific smile showing off his shark-like teeth dominated his expression. All the while, Vanessa Fisk stood by him in a zombie-like state.

"You pudgy little pansy!" taunted Hotshot, "This is just too perfect! The power to control souls all in a neat little package, and you give it to ME! If I wasn't part demon, I might be inclined to thank you. But instead, I think I'll just make you suffer by controlling the woman you love!"

"NO!" yelled Fisk, getting up in a rage, "Nobody belittles the Kingpin! ELEKTRA!"

Suddenly, a hidden door besides the elevator burst open and the ninja assassin, Elektra, leapt into action and threw her sharp metal sighs directly into the heart of the creature. It was a perfect throw, hitting him head on. But even as the blade was impaled in the demon's chest, he didn't flinch for a second.

"Ha! Is that all you got?" grinned Hotshot, easily withdrawing the blade, "Send a chick dressed like a hooker to fight your battles?"

Tossing the blade to the side, Elektra and Kingpin watched in horror as the blade dissolved under the corrosive power of Hotshot's blackened blood. Elektra's weapons were forged of metals on the same scale as adamantium, but it dissolved in Hotshot's flesh like it was nothing. He didn't look threatened in the slightest. If anything, it looked as though he was drawing strength from this.

"My blades!" yelled Elektra.

"Funny, I thought they were butter knives. Come on, bitch! Show me what you've got!"

"Oh, I will monster! AND DON'T CALL ME A BITCH!" yelled the assassin.

Lunging forth with great speed, Elektra unloaded on Hotshot and hit him with a flying double kick and three punch combo. Hotshot didn't even attempt to get out of the way. He stood there and grinned as she made contact with his body. When her flesh touched his, it was like punching volcanic rock. Sharp burns quickly followed along with blistering pain. It was like touching the fires of Hell.

"ARGH!" she yelled, grasping her blistered fists.

"Barely felt a tingle," grinned Hotshot, "You got some pretty lousy henchmen, Fisk!"

With a casual swat, Hotshot knocked Elektra right back into the wall. Her body flew across the room as if it were rag doll. He barely put any effort into it and hit her with the force of an oncoming truck. Elektra grit her teeth through the pain, struggling to get up. And with Vanessa still mindlessly watching, Fisk took measures into his own hands.

"You insolent pest!" he said, lunging towards him at full speed, "Power or no power, you will NOT get the better of me!"

"I already have, tubby."

Without breaking a sweat, the glowing demon grabbed the imposing crime lord and lifted him as if here were light as a feather. And with a casual toss, threw him to the side. Fisk's obese body hit the wall with a hard thud, leaving a sizable mark in the reinforced walls. But he was still conscious. And for once, the Kingpin was powerless to stop this madman.

"You may own this city, but now I control the souls that dwell in it," taunted Hotshot, holding the stone high, "As easy it would be to end you right here, I think I'll let you live to see me use your wife as my little henchmen."

"Vanessa!" yelled Kingpin, struggling to get up.

"Oh yes!" growled Hotshot, "And just for the fun of it, I think I'll take your sexy little sidekick too!"

Turning towards the still downed Elektra, Hotshot grabbed her by the neck and held her against the wall.

"Ack!" she choked, trying to break free.

"Mmm…you're a strong one, woman," grinned Hotshot, "I torture you and make myself stronger, but I'm going to need a little help for what I have planned. And you're going coming along for the ride whether you like it or not!"

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

The soul stone glowed in flashing rainbow colors as Hotshot held it over Elektra's body. The skilled assassin was unable to resist. A blistering pain like no other shot through every fiber of her being as her soul was ripped from her flesh. The blinding light was too great to look at, forcing the Kingpin to stay back while his top assassin succumbed to the power of the demonic madman. And when it was over, Elektra's body went limp and her eyes opened to reveal the same glowing red iris as Vanessa.

"No…" gasped Fisk, "What have I done?"

"You'll see, Fisk…" grinned Hotshot, "You'll all see! But first, there's a wretched little punk I need to pay a little visit to. And when I'm done, this city will be mine for the taking! Ahahahahahahahaha!"

Holding the soul stone high, a blinding white light inundated the room, consuming Hotshot and his two soulless minions. The Kingpin attempted to stop him, but it was all over in a flash. And all Wilson Fisk could do now was collapse in a fit of bitter defeat.

The power of the stone was in the hands of a being more evil than even the Kingpin could have imagined. Hotshot wasn't some thug looking for wealth or power. He really wanted to destroy life and cause undue suffering. Now he had the means to do it all and he had given it to him. This could not stand, not when he had been so badly dishonored and his wife used as a mere pawn. He had to respond. Taking out his cell phone, he dialed a quick number.

"Landon…" he said in a weak tone, "Meet me in the penthouse. We have a serious problem."

* * *

The next day, Peter was too restless to sleep in. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't turn his brain off after his discussion with Slayer. Add to that, he and Mary Jane didn't get a chance to talk and make up for their little fight. He still felt guilty about having cast his burden on her. His conscious had been nagging at him ever since. So Peter decided to take his mind off this mess and swing around New York while cashing his paycheck.

_Finally, it's Saturday. Funny, I usually look forward to them. On any other weekend, I'd still be sleeping. But here I am, bright and early, swinging through the city. I must be going crazy._

Peter swung past Time Square over the early Saturday morning traffic below. He was getting close to the ATM where he deposited his paycheck. It wasn't much since he was still so young and J. Jonah Jameson was not exactly liberal with his money. But it was enough to keep him afloat both in and out of the costume.

_Man, Jameson doesn't pay me enough. Then again, if it weren't for web shooters, web fluid, and torn costumes I might actually have some spending money. Who knew being a superhero was so expensive? At least Mary Jane is nice enough to fix my costume._

Landing atop a building, Peter took off his mask and set down his backpack. With a change of clothes on hand, he planned to get this over with and get back to enjoying his Saturday. There wouldn't be much to enjoy if this threat Slayer told him about was real. Now he was going to be looking over his shoulder ever waking moment worrying about it. Add to that, his family was at risk if this threat was as big as it sounded. He tried to put it out of his mind as his thoughts soon drifted to Mary Jane again.

_Damn, I can't believe I fought with MJ over something so stupid. And she was just trying to make me feel better. Some boyfriend I am. Maybe I should scrape by whatever loose change I've got and take her someplace nice to make up for it…someplace besides Taco Bell. I owe it to her after everything she's put up with._

Peter was about to change into his clothes, when suddenly a series of gunshots echoed through the streets below. It wasn't unusual for New York, but the ensuing screams of innocent people quickly caught the young vigilante's attention.

"You have GOT to be kidding me!" groaned Peter, rubbing his forehead, "Why can't criminals take Saturday's off like the rest of us?"

Putting his mask back on, he swung down through the streets, following the police cruisers to the scene. It didn't take long before they reached a building surrounded by a large crowd. Looking up at the structure, he saw it was the First National Bank. And from the looks of it, chaos had already taken hold.

"A bank robbery in broad daylight…" he sighed, "What a city."

Leaping off a police car, Peter swung up the building and onto the roof. His presence didn't go unnoticed by the crowd, especially the police. They had it out for him ever since that nut dressed up like him and killed all those people. It tended to make his job more difficult than it already was.

"Look! It's Spider-Man!"

"Is he with the gunmen?" asked one of the cops.

"Who knows? Probably is. Let's just get in and take them down!"

As annoyed as Peter was with his lack of support from his adoring fans, he slipped into the building to do his thing. Luckily, the gunmen hadn't secured the roof. It set his mind at ease because it hinted these guys were probably amateurs. But as he scaled the stairs and slipped into an elevator shaft, he was far from relaxed.

_Good God, these guys suck. Wrong day, wrong time, and in the middle of a crowded city! I feel like I'm wasting my time here. But if anybody's been hurt, I guess it's up to me to stop it. And yet it STILL won't yield me any good PR knowing the cops and the public. I should really get a publicist._

Scaling the shaft until he reached the first floor, Peter took cover on the roof as he neared the main lobby. He heard more gunshots and screaming, not knowing if anybody was dying as a result. Spider-man worked fast, trying to get into position and stay out of sight. He was expecting to find more guards, but near as he could tell they were all in the lobby. It was almost sad how poor this little heist had been planned.

"Stay down!" yelled a masked gunman firing an AK-47 into the air, "Stay the fuck down and nobody gets hurt!"

Three other men in similar attire were emptying out the registers and the open lock boxes. They didn't even try to go for the safe where the real valuables were. Even with sirens outside, they gathered all they could as if it was going to get them out of this. Seeing a dozen terrified customers and employees on the floor, Spider-Man sensed this was serious. Yet still, he saw now dead bodies. Letting out a sigh of relief, he got into position and prepared to make his presence known.

"See? This is why banks shouldn't open on weekend mornings!" he said, using his webbing to get the main gunman's weapon away, "It's practically a magnet for half rate criminals!"

"He's here!" yelled the leader, "Shoot him!"

The two other gunmen frantically fired towards the roof, but their aim left plenty of room for improvement. With his spider sense to guide him, Peter easily leapt onto a nearby column while the terrified hostages quivered in fear.

"Man, you guys really are new at this!" laughed Peter under his mask, "I mean seriously! Who robs a bank in broad daylight on a Saturday morning?! What happened? You guys skip heist 101 at the bad guy academy?"

"Get back!" yelled one of the gunmen, still firing wildly.

"Looks like you skipped English too," sighed Spider-Man, "Oh well, guess I might as well end this and get back in time to watch some cartoons."

Firing two lines of webbing, Peter disarmed the guards and stuck their weapons to the floor. The would-be robbers stammered back, falling over in a way Peter would have laughed at if he wasn't so stressed out. They weren't even putting up a fight. Yet the screaming continued as Spider-Man delivered the final blow, encasing each gunman in a cocoon of webbing.

"Easy people, it's almost over," he told the terrified crowd, "You'll be back to waiting in an endless line for poor service in no time."

The three men struggled lightly, but didn't resist as they all fell to the ground. It was almost too easy for Peter. Things never went this well for him. It was against the laws of the universe. He was supposed to have the worst luck possible. It would have been nice if this was a break for him, so he hoped to get out as soon as possible.

"Okay boys, that's a warp," said Spider-Man, unmasking the three gunmen, "It's been fun, but now you need a little time out."

Then, much to the surprise of the masked vigilante, the lead gunman smiled at him. It was usually at this point that his captured victims started cussing him out and vowing revenge. But this was not the case.

"Right on time," said the leader, "He said you'd be here."

"Huh? What the hell are you…"

"Fisk Tower…thirty minutes," he said with an ominous grin, "He wants to see you."

"See me? Pal, you're seriously off your rocker if you think…"

But before Spider-Man could probe further, the door burst open.

"FREEZE! NYPD! On the ground scumbags! That includes you, Spider-Man!" yelled the lead cop.

"Oh boy, that's my queue!" said Spider-Man, leaping away from the downed gunmen and retreating to the elevator shafts.

But even as he slipped away, the lead gunmen kept yelling.

"Thirty minutes! He'll be waiting for you!"

When it was all said and done, Peter was back on the roof watching the gunmen get hauled off. It was strange. None of them were resisting or badmouthing the cops. And that guy kept on smiling. It just didn't make any sense.

_I knew it was too good to be true. No criminal I cross would EVER be this careless._

His thoughts drifted to the ominous message the leader had given. He shuttered at the thought of actually taking the word of some low life and going to the one place he hoped he'd never go again, Fisk Tower. And only one man had that kind of influence on the criminals of New York to put together something this bizarre.

_Oh man, I can't believe I'm even thinking this. The Kingpin? Again? This is the same guy who threatened to find out who I am and kill everybody I care about. And the reasons I should NOT go are so tempting. But still…_

Looking at the large clock displayed on a news ticker, Peter debated with himself whether or not he should go. It was Saturday. He could just blow this off, go home, and sleep. Wilson Fisk was the last person he wanted to see. This guy was the epitome of everything he fought against. He even murdered a man on camera and walked off a free man. The idea of being within the same block as him sent shivers down his spine. But a nagging voice in the back of his mind convinced him otherwise.

_Oh man, I can't believe I'm doing this. Why do I get the feeling this will come back to haunt me? Oh wait…I know. Because it ALWAYS does!_

And with a beleaguered sigh, Spider-Man swung off into the morning sun. His next stop, Fisk Tower.

* * *

On the roof of Fisk Tower in the heart of the city, the Kingpin of crime stood at the edge looking out over the skyline in a daze. His expression was cold, stern, and full of anger over what had happened. His wife was gone. The stone was gone. And the madman known as Hotshot had disappeared without a trace. Despite his vast resources, Fisk was powerless. He was a businessman, not a superhero. He couldn't call the police and he couldn't call Nick Fury. The Kingpin was already on the watch list of every law enforcement agency in the world. So that left him with only one option.

"You know if we were on a beach, I'd so mistake you for a sick whale," came a pestilent voice Fisk knew all too well.

"I see you got my message," he said, ignoring the remark.

"Hell of a way to set up a meeting," commented Spider-Man, resting casually atop a flag pole, "You know there's this really cool invention called email. You should look into it."

Casting the witty vigilante a cold scowl, Wilson Fisk clenched his fists as he prepared to cut the hardest deal of his career.

"I hate you," he said coldly, "You're a punk kid who's meddling in a world he has no concept of."

"Oh so you brought me here to lecture me?" remarked Spiderman, "You know I do to got school. They tell me that at least ten times a week."

"Enough!" spat Fisk, "I didn't bring you here to lecture you. Rest assured few forces on Heaven and Earth could ever bring me to turn to you of all people. But time is short and my options are limited. In short, I need your help."

Peter was taken aback by the Kingpin's choice of words. He had seen him when he was angry and when he meant business, but this was different. There was a look in his eyes that told a terrible story. The usually cocky, confident Kingpin was gone. He was actually humbling himself to his enemy. It was enough to make the wall-crawler take him seriously.

"Okay, if you're so dead set against me being within ten miles of you, tell me what you want so I can find the nearest shark tank to throw you into."

Fisk's expression sank, partly out of bitterness and partly out of frustration.

"It's the stone."

"The stone? You mean the Rolling Stones? I thought those guys were dead?" quipped Spider-Man.

"I'm talking about the stone that I lost because of you and that Cat woman!" shot Fisk.

"Oh, THAT stone. You must mean the one that's floating at the bottom of the Hudson."

"No…not anymore," said Fisk ominously, "It took months of searching at a great cost to me personally, but I recovered it and now its power has been unleashed."

Peter wasn't sure if Fisk was telling the truth or just pulling his leg. For all he knew, it could be some elaborate plan to find out who he is so he could kill him. His spider sense remained dormant. Fisk's voice was serious and for the sake of curiosity, he gave him the benefit of the doubt.

"Okay, somebody's off his meds this morning," he joked, "Just what is this stone anyways? Did you get it from Merlin the wizard or is it one of those religious things from Ebay?"

"I assure you, it's no joke," warned Fisk, "That stone contains enough power to bring this whole city to its knees. I've seen it work. I know what it can do."

"Right…and you're telling me this because you want it back so you can be the one do it?" said Spider-Man cynically.

"No. I'm a businessman, not a tyrant."

"Could've fooled me."

"Don't patronize me boy!" shot Fisk, "I wanted that stone for one reason and one reason alone…my wife, Vanessa."

Peter's eyes widened, having not expected this from the Kingpin of all people. He was a ruthless criminal who killed anybody who stood in his way. He had seen first hand just how cruel this guy was. The last thing Peter ever would have expected was to hear a woman had risked marrying this guy.

"Your wife? Man, women have strange tastes. She wouldn't happen to be related to Anna Nichole Smith, would she?"

"I'd advise you not to disrespect her," said Fisk angrily, "Otherwise I may be inclined to let this city die out of spite."

Spider-Man was about to comment, but common sense won out and he fell silent as Fisk went on.

"The truth is Vanessa was the one who wanted that stone, not me. She knew of its power and she believed in it. I never gave it too much thought…until the day she was diagnosed with aggressive cancer."

"Cancer?" said Peter, growing more intrigued, "How bad?"

"Bad enough for the doctors to give her a mere six months to live," said Fisk, the sorrow choking his voice, "She was beyond all hope, but I refused to let her go. So I financed an expedition to find the stone. My wife had a fascination with ancient artifacts and spoke passionately about many relics. And just after she got sick, she told me the story of the soul stone. I figured if she believed in it, then that was enough for me."

"And I'm guessing it wasn't," surmised Spider-Man.

"No…that's the thing, it was," said Fisk.

Now Peter was confused. This was not a run of the mill conflict. It had to be big if Kingpin was making himself this vulnerable to a hated adversary. But there was more to the story.

"When I found the stone I tried to unlock its power. But no amount of money could buy the answers I wanted and Vanessa was running out of time. So I placed my trust in a mysterious figure who said he could help."

"Mysterious figure? You know, they make horror movies that start out like that," remarked Spider-Man.

It was yet another annoying comment, but on many levels it was true. And the Kingpin held his head low for not heeding what every fiber in his being had told him.

"I'm afraid this was no different," he sighed, "That figure turned out to be a monster the likes of which I've never seen before."

"Did this monster have horns, a tail, and red skin?"

"No…he was worse than that. I don't know whether he was a mutant or the devil himself, but he took that stone and used it to take Vanessa's soul. I tried to stop him, but even Elektra couldn't stop him."

"He took her soul?" said Spider-Man, finding that bizarre even by his standards, "Just who the hell is this guy?"

"He called himself…Hotshot."

Peter froze in horror. The memories of the demonic creature that attacked his school came rushing back. A shiver of terror coursed through his spine as the contents in his stomach sank. Slayer had told him a lot about that creature and none of it was very encouraging. Of all the people in the world, Wilson Fisk was the one to bring him back. Peter knew Hotshot was probably holding a grudge against him and now he had a new power to inflict more suffering.

"Hotshot?!" said Peter, seething with anger.

"I take it you know him."

Suddenly, the masked vigilante leapt down from the flagpole and punched the Kingpin right in the face. The crime lord stumbled back as Spider-Man grabbed him by the color and stared at him with rage in his eyes.

"YOU CRAZY EXCUSE FOR A TUB OF LARD! YOU MEAN TO TELL ME YOU TRUSTED HOTSHOT?!"

"I know…" said Fisk, unafraid of the vigilante's rage, "Which is why I called you here."

"Oh let me guess? You want me to stop him!"

"He has Vanessa! She's an innocent woman!"

"He has her because YOU let him!" yelled Peter, "Do you have any idea what you've done?!"

As much as Fisk hated being disrespected, he set his pride aside for the grim challenge at hand. Spider-man was right. This was his fault. He couldn't escape that, but he couldn't let it stand. So he did what he did best. He was going to make a deal.

"What are you going to do? Throw me off this roof? It won't change what this madman has done. Now you can either fight me or fight this monster. It's your choice."

"If I had things my way, I'd take you BOTH down!" yelled Peter.

Despite his rage and better judgment, the wall crawler let Fisk go, shoving him back as a new sense of anxiety consumed him.

"I can't believe I'm going to have to face this monster again."

"Which is why I need you, Spider-Man," said Fisk, "Only you can save Vanessa. And rest assured you will not go unrewarded if you help me."

"Save your blood money for blowing up an orphanage fat boy!" grunted Peter in disgust, "You couldn't pay me enough to do your dirty work. But for a monster like this, I guess I don't have a choice! Either way, I'm helping you! So you can just take your big, fancy rewards and shove them up your big, fancy ass!"

As insulting as it was, Fisk didn't say another word. He just stood there, cold and calm as the Kingpin of crime. Peter wanted nothing more than to throw him off the roof and turn him into the world's biggest street pizza. But that wouldn't change anything. Hotshot was back and he was at the top of his hit list.

"I hate you. I really, REALLY hate you!" shot the web-slinger, "I'm actually going to help you, not because I want to be in your good graces, but because it's the right thing to do. Just know this…if ANYBODY, including your wife, suffers because of this monster, the burden is going to be on your shoulders! Got it?!"

Not bothering to wait for an answer, Peter leapt off the roof and swung away. With Hotshot on the loose, he had to get back to Aunt May and MJ. Then he had to somehow contact Slayer. But as he disappeared into the skyline, his seething words rang in the mind of Wilson Fisk. Pestilence aside, there was no denying the truth in his words.

"Trust me, boy…I do not wish to carry such a burden. But from the looks of it, neither do you. I just hope you're as strong as I hope you are. Otherwise, we'll have much bigger problems than each other."

* * *

Back in queens, Mary Jane had just stepped out of the shower and was drying her hair. She had been moody since yesterday when she had a fight with Peter. All night, she stayed near the phone, hoping he'd call to apologize. It wasn't the first time they had a scuffle like this. Usually he'd come to her and they'd make up. She wanted him to call, but he never did and she ended up falling asleep watching reruns of Seinfeld.

_Damn it, Peter. Why won't you call?! God, why do boys have to be so stubborn?_

Letting out a frustrated groan, Mary Jane retreated to her room to get dressed. And as she put on her casual attire for the day, she heard her mother call out from downstairs.

"MJ! I'm going to the store! I'll be back in an hour!"

"Sure thing, Mom! Don't forget the grape jelly this time!"

"I won't! Call the Parkers if anything comes up, understand?"

Rolling her eyes at the prospect of talking to Peter again, MJ muttered incoherent curses to herself. She wanted Peter to call first. He was the one who started all this. But with her luck, she'd be old and gray by the time he worked up the nerve.

"Sure thing, Mom! See you later!"

Collapsing on her bed, the young woman rubbed her head in a fit of frustration. She and Peter had endured plenty of complications since their relationship began, but they always came together in the end. Him being Spider-Man constantly got in the way, but she understood why he did what he did. In addition, there was also the undeniable fact she was in love with him. Even when he drove her crazy like this, she couldn't stop loving him. It seemed like a no-win situation.

_Ah hell, we're not even married an already we need counseling. I wonder if other girls with superhero boyfriends have problems like this? Maybe I should get in touch with Jean Grey or Sue Storm. _

She was about to roll pick up the phone when suddenly, she heard a knock at her door.

"Geez, it's about time, Peter!" she said with renewed energy.

Scrambling downstairs, her excitement grew. If it was Peter and he was willing to talk, then maybe there was hope for this weekend yet. But when she opened the door, she was disappointed to see a middle aged woman with black hair standing in her doorway.

"Uh…can I help you?" asked Mary Jane.

Suddenly, her eyes flashed red and MJ fell back. But before she could gasp, a large hand covered her mouth she was taken in a powerful grip. It felt like being encased in living rock. Her skin burned to the scolding heat, as if they had come right from an erupting volcano. Mary Jane struggled to get away until she turned around and came face to face with evil incarnate.

"Remember me, little bitch?" said Hotshot with a demonic growl, "You're boyfriend caused me a lot of pain. Now I'm back to return the favor!"

MJ's froze in horror. If ever there was a creature of pure evil, this would be it. She tried to scream out, but his grip was too strong. This had to be a nightmare. She desperately tried to wake herself up from this horrid nightmare. But this was no dream. Hotshot would ensure that. Gripping the soul stone with his right hand, he held it over the terrified girl. The ancient relic began flashing in a maze of bright lights. And in a blinding light, Mary Jane Watson screamed in horror.

"Your soul is MINE!"

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

* * *

HOTSHOT HAS MARY JANE! STAY TUNED TO SEE MORE! REVIEW!!! 


	7. Nothing To Lose

**Soul Warriors  
Chapter 7: Nothing To Lose**

* * *

The Parker household was dark as May came home from a round of grocery shopping. Clouds were rolling in and rain was coming. It cast an eerie, ominous aura. But May cared little for the weather and was more concerned with ensuring the ice cream she bought didn't melt. 

"Peter? Peter, where are you?" she called out, setting the grocery bags on the counter.

Not getting a response, she looked around hoping for an answer. Then her eyes fell upon a small sticky note on the fridge.

_Went into town and to deposit my paycheck. Back in a few hours. Love Peter._

Shrugging to herself, May began unloading her groceries. Usually Peter helped her with this. He had to since Ben died. It almost brought a tear to her eye, knowing Peter now had to be the man of the house. She couldn't help but wonder if his behavior as of lately was a result of him struggling with this responsibility. Since Ben's death, Peter's grades were slipping, he was always late, and always seemed stressed. She was doing everything a single widowed parent could, but Peter had a knack for being stubborn. So it was up to her to be even more stubborn and make the best of their situation.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door just as May was finishing. Curious, she looked out the window and smiled to see Mary Jane standing there. Of all the troubles Peter had, it was a big help having someone like her in his life to make him happy.

"Hello, Mary," said May, opening the door, "Peter went into the city to cash his paycheck. He said he'll be back when…"

Suddenly, she was cut off by a sudden jolt that hit her from behind.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!" she screamed in agony, falling to the floor.

Mary Jane showed no emotion or concern for the elderly woman. She just stood there like a zombie, watching as a dark figure emerged from the shadows.

"Ha! Easy as a walk in the park on Sunday!" grinned Hotshot as he loomed over May.

"Hnn…"

The disoriented elderly woman struggled to get up. Her head was spinning and her vision was disoriented. She knew enough to know she was under attack and turned to face the dark figure looming over her. She couldn't make out much, but she saw enough to see a true monster. It was something from her darkest nightmares, too horrific to be real. She wasn't sure if she was awake or dreaming, but the figure wasn't going to give her time to find out.

"Time to complete my little crew!" said Hotshot, holding the stone over May, "You're soul is mine, bitch!"

The stone erupted in a burst of brilliant light. The same blistering pain Vanessa, Mary Jane, and Elektra experienced surged through May Parker as well. Mary Jane watched on, emotionless and devoid of soul or feeling. And in a fit of agony, the elder woman's soul was wrenched from her flesh.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

When the light faded, May's body was deathly still. The power invigorated Hotshot, his already imposing form growing with the nourishment of fresh souls. Standing over the lifeless woman, Elektra and Vanessa Fisk joined him from the shadows. Each woman was soulless and emotionless, completely at Hotshot's mercy. And now he had one more minion to add to his growing ranks.

"Alright geezer…arise," he commanded.

Suddenly, May's eyes opened to reveal a bright red gaze. Without any will or resistance, she rose to her feet and stood before Hotshot's imposing form. She was soulless like the others, completely at the mercy of the madman before her.

"Four zombie women completely at my will…" said Hotshot approvingly, "Not bad, but nowhere near full potential!"

Gripping the stone, he and the four women were engulfed in a white glow. Each one of their eyes flashed bright red as they bowed before their master. Hotshot enjoyed ever second of it. He had the two most valuable people in Peter Parker's life under his thumb. But he was far from satisfied.

"So many souls, so little time. But first, I've got a little payback to dish out! And you ladies are gonna help!"

* * *

Raindrops began falling as Peter swung into Queens. Leaping across rooftops, he frantically closed in on his home. The whole time, he kept mumbling curses towards the Kingpin. It was bad enough he was stuck helping Fisk, but with Hotshot holding a grudge and in the possession of a great new power he could be in even more danger. 

_Argh! I HATE THE KINGPIN! How does a guy who kills, cheats, and lies his way to the top get more respect than I'll ever get?! He got away with murder! He unmasked me and threw me out a window! And now he's given a freakin' demon with a grudge against me enough power to paint the city in blood!_

_I'll say it again just to get it out of my system…I HATE THE KINGPIN!_

His home in sight, Peter cursed his enemy all the way to the back yard where he took his clothes out of his backpack and slipped back into his pants and shirt. He had to warn Mary Jane and Aunt may, even if it meant exposing his secret. They were in trouble because of him and he didn't want to live with another burden on his soul. Slipping around the back, he stormed through the front door frantically looking for his Aunt.

"Aunt May? Aunt May!" he called out, shouting up the stairs and through the living room.

Checking the kitchen, he scanned everywhere he could. His spider sense was calm, so there wasn't any danger so far. But the sooner he found his Aunt, the sooner he could breathe again.

"Oh man, where is she? She's not still shopping, is she?"

Looking into the living room, he saw the glow of the TV. Stepping into the room, he let out a sigh of relief upon seeing his aunt sitting on the couch.

"Aunt May, there you are!" said Peter with a sigh of relief, "Are you okay? Didn't you hear me calling for you?"

But she didn't respond. It was as if he hadn't even heard her.

"Uh…Aunt May?"

Taking a step closer, Peter wearily approached. He noticed the TV screen was all static. Yet his Aunt was staring at it in a trance. It was really freaky.

"Okay…maybe she was right when she said TV will rot your brain," he said, trying to get his aunt's attention.

Inching closer, he saw no expression on her face. It was as if she were a living statue. Peter felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and it wasn't his spider sense. Not knowing what was going on, he reached out to touch his Aunt's face. Then suddenly, his spider sense went off and before he could react, she lunged forth and grabbed his neck.

"Ack! Aunt May!" he choked.

With zombie-like movements, May rose up from the couch, lifting Peter along the way as if he were light as a feather. Her grip was strong as steel. Her touch was as cold as a corpse. All the while, not a single hint of emotion flashed on her face.

"Aunt May I…WHOA!"

With strength not common in a woman her age, she threw him against the wall like a rag doll. He managed to land on the wall and stick to it. But even with his spider agility, the pure shock hit the young man hard. Looking back in horror as his beloved aunt approached, he tried to make sense of all this.

"Ow…damn, have you been working out?" he exclaimed, "What's going on here?!"

Suddenly, his spider sense went off again. This time, he was grabbed from behind and pulled into a choke hold.

"What the…AHHHHHH!" he howled, his limbs bent in ways they weren't supposed to bend.

Turning around, his eyes widened in horror to see Mary Jane with the same emotionless expression as Aunt May. He tried to break free without hurting her, but she too was a lot stronger. It was like trying to break free from Doc Ock's metal arms.

"Stop it! MJ! Aunt May! It's me!"

Not listening to a word he said, Mary Jane threw him to the ground. Aunt May tried to kick him, but his spider agility kicked in and he leapt up onto the ceiling. They couldn't touch him in this state, but they hardly seemed discouraged. They just kept looking at him with that cold, stoic gaze.

"Guys! What's happening? Come on, say something! ANYTHING! I don't want to hurt you!"

"That's too bad, punk. Because they want to hurt you!" came a dark voice.

Before Peter could react, Elektra leapt in from the foyer and threw a ninja star that hit him right in his left hand.

"AHHHHHHH!" howled Peter in pain, falling from the ceiling onto the hard floor.

Grasping his bloody hand, Vanessa Fisk emerged from the kitchen and grabbed the young man from behind. Holding him by the arms in an iron grip, Peter had no means of escape. He tried using his spider strength, but it was like trying to break through steel. His hand stung. A panicked sweat formed on his faced. Aunt May, Mary Jane, and Elektra each approached him in their zombified state. Their cold gaze sent shivers down Peter's spine. Growing increasingly frustrated, he tried to fight back.

"Aunt May…Mary Jane…WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?!"

"Isn't it obvious, Parker? I'm dishing out a little payback!" said the demonic tone of Hotshot.

Peter's eyes widened with horror as a red mist formed in front of him and the imposing figure of Hotshot emerged. He was even more horrifying than the first time he saw him. In addition, he was bigger too. But the young man's rage overshadowed his fear.

"You!" yelled Peter angrily, "What have you done to them?!"

"Isn't it obvious?" grinned Hotshot, "I took their will and made it mine. Their souls are gone. Their humanity is no more. All that's left is a shell of flesh that's mine for the taking! And it's all thanks to your fat friend and this little gift he gave me!"

The young man's eyes widened with terror upon seeing the stone he saw Black Cat throw into the Hudson. It was just as Kingpin had told him. Hotshot had the stone and Peter was too late to do anything about it. And like Uncle Ben, his loved ones had been caught in the crossfire of his life under the mask.

"You…sick…son of a…ARGH!"

With renewed pain, the zombified Mary Jane and Aunt May began punching and kicking him to the ground. Vanessa Fisk held him in an iron grip, giving them a free ticket to beat the crap out of him. And Hotshot enjoyed every minute of it.

"That's it ladies! Show this little shit why you don't mess with Hotshot!"

Peter's body stung with intense pain. All the training Slayer gave him did no good here. He couldn't fight against his own family. Hotshot knew it. But with determined grunts, he kept struggling, working to weaken Vanessa's grip.

"Ugh! Hotshot! I'm gonna…ACK!" he choked, Vanessa taking him by the neck.

"That's it, Parker! Resist! It only makes this shit funnier!" laughed Hotshot.

Mary Jane punched him in the gut while May slugged him in the face. Their strength was a lot greater as mindless minions of Hotshot. And he couldn't fight back. These were his loved ones. But Peter refused to give up.

"You're…gonna…PAY!" yelled Peter, finally shaking off Vanessa's grip, knocking her back with a sweep kick.

"Oh no you don't, Parker!" shot Hotshot, "Elektra!"

The zombie ninja sprung into action, attacking Peter with a flying kick. But thanks to Jack's training, he grabbed her leg in mid air and slammed her to the ground. He half expected her to be knocked out, but she got right back up as if it were nothing and renewed her assault.

"Whoa! Damn! I…hate…you!" yelled Peter, frantically blocking Elektra's strikes.

"Ha! Join the club…what's left of em anyways."

Peter put up a strong fight against the mindless Elektra, but Hotshot just kept laughing. This was just a game to him. Nothing Peter did mattered. It wouldn't change the outcome. With the power of the soul stone, he had already won. This was just delaying the inevitable.

Elektra fought hard, her advanced skills showing even in her zombie state. But Peter had learned from their last fight with Cat and he wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. Elektra went for his throat again, but Peter pulled off a sweep kick followed by a double punch to the face. He put his spider strength into it, but Elektra felt no pain from his blows. She merely shook it off and lunged right back at him.

"Go on, Elektra! Kick his ass!" commanded Hotshot.

"Go ahead and try," said Peter through the pain, taking a defensive stance.

Elektra tried a jump kick, but this time Peter was ready for her.

"Hate to do this to a girl…especially a hired assassin. But what the hell?"

Reading her moves, Elektra did what he suspected and tried to kick him. But Peter pulled off a swift spin move, grabbing her arm and getting behind her. With her limbs restrained, he kicked just below her knee cap in a way Slayer showed him, hitting a fragile joint that caused the zombie Elektra to keel over. She didn't show any signs of pain. Nothing seemed to hurt her. It was freaky, even for Peter. But he ignored it for the moment and threw Elektra right back at Hotshot, who casually stepped aside.

"Now you're next, ugly!" yelled Peter.

"Oh can it, punk!"

With fiery red eyes, Hotshot rose his hand with the stone and shot a small fireball of energy.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" yelled Peter, agony coursing through every nerve.

Falling to the ground, Vanessa Fisk and Elektra grabbed his arms and restrained him. All the while, the pain kept burning.

"You really don't know who you're dealing with, do you?" growled Hotshot, kneeling down and grabbing Peter's bruised face, "You think I'm just another freak you can web up and leave for SHIELD or the cops?!"

Peter tried to respond, but he was silenced by a punch from Aunt May to the gut.

"Ack!" groaned Peter, spitting up blood.

"You shouldn't have meddled, Parker! You should have stayed in your own little world, fighting punk ass little bad guys to make your pussy Uncle proud! Face it! I've won! You've lost! Your loved ones are my minions! And it's all because of YOU! Now you've got nothing! No hope! No future! The only thing left for you is death!"

Grabbing Peter by the throat, Hotshot's firm grip singed Peter's tender skin. Every nerve was screaming. Every ounce of hope was fading. Looking into the horrific eyes of the demon before him, the once proud vigilante felt his world fading away. He was weak, tired, and distraught. And despite all his efforts, he was at the mercy of this madman.

"Oh I'm gonna enjoy this! You're suffering makes me strong!" exclaimed Hotshot, his eyes glowing bright red, "And what better way to meet your end then by the hands of your own loved ones?"

"No…" gasped Peter, fighting the burning pain of defeat.

"YES! You think your life is hell? Wait till I get through with you! Ahahahahahahaha!"

But before Hotshot could continue his torment, an all too familiar voice shot out from the shadows.

"Hey Hotshot…laugh at this!"

Knowing that voice all too well, Hotshot turned to face his greatest adversary. But before he could even think of a response, a blinding spark of purple light hit him in the eyes.

"AHHHHHHH!" he yelled, stumbling back and dropping Peter in the process, "YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

The blasts came from a spell Jack prepared in advanced. They blinded the demon and disoriented him. Falling in a heap of pain, Peter groaned as he hit the floor. And while Hotshot struggled to regain his composure, Slayer moved to save him. Elektra and Vanessa tried to attack, but Slayer hit them with a double jump kick that sent them flying.

"Sorry I'm late, Parker. Let's just get out of here before these girls hit their periods and get REALLY pissed!"

Grabbing the bruised body of the young man, Slayer cast a transport spell, engulfing them in a purple haze. Hotshot was still disoriented, but his vision cleared just long enough to see his enemies slipping away.

"YOU LITTLE SHITS! COME BACK HERE! I'M NOT FINISHED WITH YOU!"

"Sorry Hotshot, but one more second of looking at that face of yours and I'll need just as much therapy as you. Later!"

Hotshot tried to grab them, but even with the power of the soul stone he wasn't fast enough. All he got was a fist of purple mist.

"No! My revenge!" he yelled with a demonic roar.

He had been so close. Parker was in his hands, suffering immensely. It was ecstasy. All that pain was radiating so intensely. But Slayer just had to get in the way. Now he had two adversaries to torment.

"I swear, when I get my hands on them I'll…"

But Hotshot stopped, looking back at the stone he still had in his possession. He was still raging with anger, but took comfort knowing the power was still his. Looking at his four minions, he had already attained victory on some levels. He may have let Parker slip through his fingers, but Slayer's interference just delayed the inevitable.

"Ah hell, they'll get theirs soon enough," grinned Hotshot, "This is a big city with plenty of suffering to go around. And with this rock, I'm gonna have the party of the millennium!"

Seething with hatred and malice, the stone erupted in a glow of white light. Mary Jane, Aunt May, Vanessa Fisk, and Elektra remained emotionless and stoic, loyally standing beside their master. Parker may have gotten away, but Hotshot still had what mattered most to him.

"Come ladies, we've got some suffering to spread!"

And with a bright flash, Hotshot and his minions were gone.

* * *

Peter Parker's world was spinning in a haze of pain and torment. Everything he had experienced coursed through his consciousness in a prolonged nightmare. He had failed. Everybody that meant something to him was gone, all because of him. 

'_Peter…'_ came a voice, calling out through the haze of pained memories.

'_Mary Jane?'_ said Peter with renewed hope.

Reaching out to her, he saw an image of the girl he loved. She was floating before him, hovering in an angelic state. For a moment, Peter's heart jumped.

'_Peter…you FAILED!'_

Her eyes shot open, revealing a blood red gaze. Peter fell back in terror as she and figures of everyone else he knew from his Uncle Ben to his parents assaulted him in a sea of torment. And he could do nothing to stop it.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Suddenly, Peter shot up. His lungs burned, his skin covered in cold sweat. He was still in a great deal of pain physically, but nothing could compare to the hurt he felt emotionally.

"Oh…oh God!" he gasped in horror, grasping his head in a fit of anguish.

Thunder echoed as lightning flashed outside. Looking around, Peter saw that he was in a cheap motel room strewn with liquor bottles, cigarette butts, and what looked like a few undone lines of cocaine. The rain pounded on the window besides his bed and sitting beside him drinking a bottle of whisky was the young warrior who saved him.

"J-Jack?" said Peter, reeling from his nightmare.

"Hey…" he said in a morose tone, "You okay?"

Peter shot him an angry look.

"Sorry…dumb question," he said, finishing up his drink.

Collapsing back on the bed, Peter felt around the burn marks Hotshot left. He was surprised somewhat to sense they were gone. But he was still in a world of hurt. Pushing back the covers, he found he was shirtless. His torso was strewn with a long bandage. There were still traces of black and blue marks, but nowhere near what he expected.

"Hope you don't mind, but you were pretty beat up. I gave you an elixir, but it'll take some time to work."

"Whatever…" muttered Peter, grunting as he sat up, "I take it by all the drugs and booze this is where you live."

"Temporarily at least," said Jack, tossing the empty bottle aside, "I stay wherever I can, keeping as low a profile as possible."

"Well you can't get much lower than this," remarked Peter, "Is this what you've been doing since you kicked my ass? Drinking yourself to death while Hotshot takes my family?!"

"Hey, I saved your ass if I recall! So a little gratitude wouldn't hurt, Parker!" shot Jack.

"Well SORRY!" exclaimed Peter, a hint of tears forming in his eyes, "But if it weren't for you I wouldn't even be on Hotshot's hit list and my aunt and girlfriend wouldn't be his slaves!"

The young teen was hysterical. His family, his life, everything had fallen apart. Slayer was no good at dealing with this. He'd almost rather be facing Hotshot. But he did have a point. This wouldn't have happened if their paths had not crossed. He didn't need an all seeing eye to know that. Sitting at a chair next to a stack of empty liquor bottles, the warrior let out a frustrated grunt.

"You're right," he said stoically, "You wouldn't be involved with Hotshot if I hadn't brought him into your life. Maybe you'd be better off if I never started training you. Hell, maybe you'd be a lot happier if you never got those spider powers."

"Jack I…" said Peter, now feeling bad about assaulting his teacher.

"Don't even think about apologizing, Peter," said Slayer, "I know this is bad. But believe me, I never meant for your family to fall into the crosshairs."

Already racked with guilt, Slayer sunk into a stupor. If it weren't for his armor, Peter might have thought him to be just another low life drunk. He sure didn't look like the proud warrior who had been training him, but Slayer didn't care.

"So how do we save them?" asked Peter.

"I don't know."

"You don't know?!" exclaimed Peter.

"No…" he said in a low tone, "I don't."

Peter wanted to get up and choke him to death for giving up. But he was still sore from Hotshot's assault. Slayer saw his frustration and he had every right to be angry. There just wasn't much he could give at this point.

"I've been doing some research on the soul stone since our last encounter," explained Slayer, "I've consulted every source I know. But the story is always the same."

"What story is that?" asked Peter with eager curiosity.

Letting out a deep sigh, Slayer got up and looked out the window into the pouring rain.

"It's unstoppable. The power to take the very energy of life and channel it for your own means…all rolled up into a single stone. The ancients used it as a means to invigorate their chi. With it, they could cure disease, prolong life, and gain the strength of 20 men. But it had plenty of darker uses."

"Tell me about it," groaned Peter, trying to stand up, "Is that what Hotshot's doing?"

"With supreme satisfaction," affirmed Slayer, "Even though it was meant to heal, the stone could also be used to steal the life force of other people. And if one controls life force, they can control everything. Without a soul, the body is just a collection of flesh. And the more souls that are taken, the stronger the user becomes."

An ominous flash of lightning illuminated the night sky. Echoes of thunder resonated in the distance through the vast New York City skyline. None of this was giving Peter any hope. But Slayer wasn't done yet.

"The stone is a medium, nothing more…nothing less. It all depends on how it's used. And in the hands of someone like Hotshot, the suffering he could inflict is limitless. Eventually, all those souls will strengthen him to the point of invincibility. And the longer he has those souls in his possession, the more his minions fade."

"Minions? You mean Aunt May and Mary Jane?!" exclaimed Peter.

Jack nodded with a heavy heart.

"It's simple physics, Parker. Energy can be neither created nor destroyed. It just changes from one form to another. Life energy is no different. It starts from the environment and builds in an organism. But when that energy is sapped and collected, it starts to concentrate. Thereby turning the souls of the lost into nothing but another source of energy."

The thought of losing his aunt and girlfriend to this madness was too much for Peter to bear. He had lost his Uncle Ben. He had lost his parents. He couldn't lose everything else that mattered to him.

"We've got to save them! We can't just let Hotshot use the people I love for his own sick means!"

"That's just it, Peter," said Slayer in a low tone, "It may already be too late."

"NO!" yelled Peter, "I can't accept that! I won't!"

"That doesn't change the reality," quipped Jack, "I warned you about this. I told you a day would come when you'd have to go into a battle knowing everything you hold dear is lost. Even if you confront Hotshot and somehow beat him, your loved ones may already be gone. Can you really deal with that? Can you really fight with all your heart knowing you've already failed?"

Peter wasn't sure how to respond. He was so angry at Hotshot for hurting his family, but his anger did nothing to stop him last time. And now he was even stronger with Aunt May and Mary Jane as his slaves. Could he really fight against something like that?

Slayer remained indifferent as he gathered his sword. Lying besides him was Peter's backpack, which contained his Spider-Man costume. He made sure he took it with him when he extracted him from his home. Looking at the broken Peter Parker, Jack took out the costume and tossed it to him.

"It's time to choose, Parker," said Jack, "Either give up and wallow in your own sorrow. Or fight on driven by a greater purpose. Right now, you're just a kid in a costume. That much Hotshot got right."

"Hey, whose side are you on?" said Peter in an irked tone.

"The same side I've always been on…mine," affirmed Slayer, "I have nothing to gain from this battle. I also have nothing to lose. I fight on knowing I'll wind up drunk, hung over, and alone the next day. I have no family. The love of my life is long dead. I never asked for this power, but like you're Uncle once said with great power comes great responsibility. Only now you're responsible for finding something to carry on into battle…something more than just guilt."

Peter Parker had never been faced with this challenge before. Fighting Hotshot was enough, but fighting him for different reasons was something else. He became Spider-Man to make up for his failure to save Uncle Ben. In that time he had overcome madmen like Norman Osborn, Doc Ock, and the Kingpin. But was that enough to make him a hero? Because it certainly wasn't enough to make him a warrior.

Lightning flashed and thunder roared as the clouds thickened outside. Jack's all seeing eye flashed bright red. Many horrid visions coursed through his fragile mind, but he stood ready to face them.

"I can't force you to go into a battle," said Slayer, "But when you find that hope inside that makes you more than just a hero, join me in the battle against darkness. Time is short, so I'd hurry if I were you. If you need me, I'll be at the cathedral downtown. And if we don't see each other again, it's been a privilege teaching you Peter Parker."

Respectfully bowing one last time, the purple haze engulfed Slayer and his figure faded into the shadows.

"Jack! Wait!" exclaimed Peter.

But it was too late. He was already gone. Yet his words hung strongly in Peter's mind. Looking down at the costume that had caused him so much grief, the young teen stood at an impasse. Not many kids his age had to face a threat like this, but he was involved whether he liked it or not. He could either run or fight, but either way he had a responsibility to uphold.

"Nothing like a little pressure," he mused.

Getting off the bed, Peter ignored the lingering pain and looked outside at the swirling clouds. A cold chill ran down his spine, the cold gazes of his loved ones still burned in his memory. He could still hear the echoes of Hotshot's heinous laughter, but this time it didn't scare him. Clenching his fists, Peter's gaze drifted back towards his costume.

"Guess it's now or never," said Peter with renewed determination, "Slayer's right. It's time to make a choice."

* * *

STORM CLOUDS HAVE GATHERED! STAY TUNED AND REVIEW! 


	8. Holy Ghost

**Soul Warriors  
Chapter 8: Holy Ghost**

* * *

The rain poured and the thunder roared in downtown New York City as Hotshot and his enslaved minions gathered in a large church. The holy structure was quiet, not a soul present as Hotshot stood at the center altar with the glowing soul stone in hand. Mary Jane, Aunt May, Vanessa Fisk, and Elektra stood with him, emotionless and cold. The skin of his victims was pale, their eyes burning bright red with malevolence. Only a mere collection of flesh, their life force was fading and only the rogue demon's power fueled them. Hotshot was growing more powerful by the second, fueled by the souls of the innocent. But it was not enough for him. 

"This is perfect!" grinned the malevolent being, "Nothing beats the spiritual energy of a church! And I'm gonna need every last scrap of it!"

Holding the stone high, the stained glass windows shuttered as the thundered roared. The ominous glow of the stone inundated Hotshot in an aura of energy, his demonic face contorting in a fit of ecstasy.

"So many souls yet so little time! The strength of an entire city in the palm of my hand! No one will stand in my way now! I'll show Hell they can't stop me! I'll show Heaven they can't ignore me! Everyone will know my power! Everyone!"

"I don't think so, ugly!" came a voice from the church entrance.

Not threatened by the new presence, Hotshot turned to face Slayer with a sinister grin. His greatest enemy who had vanquished him many times before struck no frustration in him this time. The warrior may have bettered him before, but this time was different. Now he was flushed with the power of souls. Even his skills couldn't beat that.

"Jack…glad you could join me for the party!"

"Ha! Some party," scoffed Slayer, taking out his sword, "No booze, no hookers, not even a single tablet of crystal meth! If this is your idea of a party, save the invite to your next birthday."

"Joke all you want, Slayer! You're power is nothing but cheap magic tricks! I've got the power of soul on my side!"

"Souls that you stole!" shot Slayer, "You gave up your soul a long time ago, Hotshot. You're still every bit as barren as the pits of hell where you belong!"

"Ha! Hell couldn't handle me any better than this pathetic world!" roared Hotshot, "And when I get through with you, I'll have enough power to enslave everything from Heaven to Hell!"

"Not if I have anything to say about it!" yelled Slayer as he lunged forth.

The symbols on his hands glowed bright yellow as he cast a spell, increasing his speed to blinding limits. He easily flew past the four soulless women, pulling off a flip in mid air before landing at the altar and thrusting his sword right into Hotshot's gut. But the demonic figure merely grinned, reacting swiftly as he caught Slayer's sword with both hands.

"Errrrrrrrrr! You…won't…win!" grunted Slayer, trying to beat Hotshot's new strength.

"I already have, Jackie boy."

With a simple spin move, Hotshot punched Slayer in chest and sent him flying across the church. He landed with a hard thud against the stone wall, both his body and his ego wounded from such a blow.

"Ugh!" he grunted, struggling back to his feet, "Guy's been working out."

"With so many souls, I don't have to!" laughed Hotshot, "If you think I'm strong now, just wait till you see me with every soul in this city in the palm of my hand!"

"That's NOT going to happen!" shot Slayer, "Not as long as I'm still breathing!"

"Guess we'll just have to change that," grinned Hotshot, "Elektra, keep my old friend busy, will you? I hear he has a thing for scantily clad women."

Obediently, the mindless Elektra turned towards Slayer with her sinister red eyes and attacked. Even under Hotshot's control, she still had the skills that made her a deadly assassin. Only now, she was much stronger with his evil fueling her being. And to aid her, Hotshot armed her with new sighs he forged from his own body.

"Ah hell…" groaned Slayer.

Elektra's attacks were swift and efficient, starting with a flying kick. Slayer easily avoided it, but he didn't avoid the quick back kick that hit him as soon as she hit the ground. He fell back off balance, giving Elektra plenty of time to unleash a barrage of punch combos, all of which were like shots from a metal baseball bat.

"Argh! I hate demon slaves!"

Going in for the kill, Elektra tried to stab Slayer when he was down with her sighs. But the agile warrior avoided it by rolling to the side and rising to his feet with his sword in hand. Taking a defensive stance, Slayer ignored the sting in his body as he stared down the emotionless woman.

"I normally don't fight girls…especially ones who dress like you," he commented, "But on this occasion I say what the hell! Hyaaahhhhhhhh!"

Unleashing his own attack, Slayer hit Elektra with a series of sword swipes. Instinctively, she blocked them with her sighs, but was driven back. Any normal combatant would have been knocked off balance, but in her enslaved state Elektra was like a living statue. She pushed him off and started attacking again, swiping her sighs in a blinding attack that forced Slayer on the defensive. He grunted hard as he was driven back. The odds were still in her favor.

Back in the center stage of the church, Hotshot grinned at Elektra's utility. She was good for some high class killer who sold herself like a common street whore. As much as he wanted to kill Slayer himself, he needed to secure his power.

"Have fun, Jackie boy," he grinned, "But I've got work to do!"

Holding the soul stone high in the air, lightning flashed and illuminated the area through the stain glass windows of the church. A cold gust swept through the holy walls. The air grew tense with sinister intent. The stone began to glow, the power focused on the demonic figure.

"It's time!" grinned the demon.

Every candle in the church came to life, lighting up on its own by an unseen force. The cold air engulfed the center altar, bathing it in a dark haze. Holy relics crumbled into dust and the cross hanging overhead flipped upside down. The demonic figure pushed the podium where the priest stood out of the way and approached a large table with a brass cross. His eyes flashed red, causing the cross to suddenly dissolve into dust. And on the table, he carved an ancient symbol representing great evil.

"Yes…it's all coming together," said Hotshot ominously.

Stepping into the center podium, Hotshot was surrounded by a series of luminous rings. Each ring bore small seams of text similar to the soul stone. As he took his rightful place, the rings erupted in a yellow glow and the soul stone shined brightly like a miniature star.

"YES! I FEEL IT!" proclaimed Hotshot.

"Oh shit…" groaned Slayer, stuck in a grapple with Elektra.

Mary Jane, Aunt May, and Vanessa Fisk watched on indifferently. They were nothing but witnesses to Hotshot's ultimate rise to power. They could do nothing and neither could Slayer. The demonic madman was truly on the brink of attaining invincibility.

"IT'S OVER WARRIOR! YOU'VE LOST! THIS WORLD IS MINE!"

But just as Hotshot was ready to declare victory, an annoying voice echoed from the ceiling.

"Hope you kept the receipt, Hotshot!" said Spider-Man, swinging down and kicking Hotshot right off the altar.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

He knew that voice. He hadn't expected to hear it, but it was undeniable. The human/demon hybrid was fuming. He was so close, only to be interrupted by some costumed punk. He expected Slayer to stand in his way, but not a puny little shit like Peter Parker.

"You put on a hell of a light show," remarked the vigilante, "Ever think of getting a job in Hollywood?"

"You little punk!"

His eyes glowing bright red, Hotshot gripped the soul stone and unleashed a barrage of bright blasts. To Peter, it was like being hit by fireworks on steroids. But thanks to his spider agility, he back flipped his way out of harms way and landed atop the altar.

"You wanna hassle my hometown, Hotshot? You're gonna have to go through me!" said Spider-Man, his words seething with determination.

Still burning with hatred, Hotshot scoffed. An insidious grin formed, looking more humored than annoyed. His laughter filled the halls. This kid may have been annoying, but he was just little bug at this point.

"Oh this is too rich!" laughed Hotshot, "I beat your and you still try to play hero?"

"Not this time, pal. You messed with my family, my home, my whole life!" shot Peter, "I'm not gonna just sit by and wallow in self pity while you try to pull a Norman Osborn on me!"

"Kid, I didn't just mess with your life! I destroyed it!" grinned Hotshot, "And I had a damn good time doing it! HA!"

Peter didn't want to believe the deceitful demon. But looking at the cold gazes of his aunt and girlfriend, devoid of all humanity, it was hard to deny. A burning anger raged within, mixed with the immense guilt of dragging his loved ones into this mess. There was no escaping the truth. Hotshot knew it. And he was going to make sure it would haunt Peter Parker for the rest of his short life.

"You might as well accept your fate, Parker," said Hotshot, "There's nothing left for you to fight for. You try to be a hero, but in reality you're really just a kid who stumbled onto some power. Look at you! Hiding behind a mask, wanting to seem selfless when you're even greedier than me! You don't do this for your family! You do it for yourself!"

Hotshot's words stung worse than any pain he could have inflicted. The resolve of Peter Parker and Spider-Man was shaken to its core. Hotshot was unlike any other enemy he had faced. He knew how to hit him where it hurt. He had all the advantages. Spider-Man was just a bug to him, one he could squash without a second thought.

"You're a sick bastard, Hotshot!" scowled Peter with rage.

"Maybe…" grinned the demon, "But I still beat you!"

"Errrrrrrr! BEAT THIS!"

The time for taunting had passed. Spider-Man wouldn't hear another word of this madman's babble. Leaping into the air, he came down on Hotshot with a heavy kick. But the demonic figure was ready for him. He swiftly dodging to the side and slamming the masked teen with his fist, knocking him back onto the altar. Peter felt the hard sting surge through his body. His vision momentarily blurred. But he could still see Hotshot standing over him in a domineering poise.

"That all you got?" grinned Hotshot, savoring his groans of agony.

"Ugh!" coughed Spiderman, "Are you kidding? My bones are still intact."

"Ha!" scoffed Hotshot, "You've got guts, kid. I'll give you that."

"You're going down, Hotshot!" he yelled with rage, "If it's the last thing I do, I swear you're going down!"

"Forgetting something, Parker?"

Turning to his mindless minions, Aunt May and Mary Jane came to life and attacked Peter. Their skin was ice cold and their loyalty unbending. And Peter could do nothing to get through to them.

"Oh man…"

His spider sense told him they were going to strike. He should have reacted, but he just couldn't strike the people he loved.

"Ack!" grunted Peter as MJ's fist collided with his face.

It was like being hit with a crow bar. The zombie women didn't hold back, tearing into Peter with no remorse. Mary Jane grabbed him by the neck from behind, choking the life out of him while Aunt May relentlessly pounded into his gut. Blood spattered from Peter's throat, his vision growing blurry from the harsh blows. And there was nothing he could do about it.

"Ain't this ironic?" laughed Hotshot, "Taken down by the people you swore to protect. It'd almost be poetic if I actually gave a damn about poetry. Hahahahahahah!"

Thrown to the ground, Peter's limbs trembled as Mary Jane and Aunt May kicked him repeatedly. He wanted to strike Hotshot, but he couldn't get through his loved ones. But while Peter was enduring such a beating, Slayer took notice as he remained locked in combat with Elektra. His sword was now locked with her sighs, the strength of a warrior and a mindless minion locked in a bitter struggle. With their great skills, they fought to a stalemate. And if the tides were to turn, it would have to come from Peter.

"Come on, Parker! Pull yourself together!" grunted Slayer, "You have to fight back! Forget your doubt! Forget your insecurities! Just pick yourself up and FIGHT!"

Just as Slayer said those words, Elektra got off another punch and sent Jack stumbling back. Their fight went on and Spider-Man's wasn't done yet. He was still breathing, but his loved ones were still in his way. For so long, he did what he did for them. Now they were gone. He couldn't even call himself a hero after having failed them. Peter's traditional drive wouldn't win this battle. Instead, he needed something more.

So much…it hurts so much. Can't win like this. I'm sorry Uncle Ben. I'm sorry Aunt May, MJ, Gwen…everybody.

Aunt May hit him with another hard kick, causing him to cough up more blood. It was a sickening feeling, yet Peter Parker refused to submit.

NO! Stop it, Parker! Don't go out like this! Stop whining like a baby and get up! Forget about the pain! Just tough it out! I'm not going down without a fight!

Foregoing his loss, doubts, and bodily pain, Spider-Man caught the drone Mary Jane's leg before it could hit him again. And despite what every fiber in his being told him, he threw her across the church with all his strength.

"Sorry MJ. Hope you won't remember any of this," grunted Peter, returning to his feet.

"Kill him already!" demanded Hotshot.

Aunt May obeyed, but Peter was ready for her. She tried to punch him, but he caught her in mind stride.

"I am so going to be grounded for this."

Gritting his teeth in anguish, Peter threw his beloved aunt across the church with all his might. Her flying body impacted Mary Jane, who was just getting up. He couldn't believe he had just crossed such a line. But he wasn't thinking like a hero anymore. Now, he was thinking like a warrior.

"Hotshot!" yelled Spider-Man, his words simmering with anger, "Now it's just you and me!"

Hotshot grunted in frustration. The kid was a fighter, but now he was just getting on his nerves.

"You're out of your league, Parker!" scoffed Hotshot,

"Do the universe a favor, ugly…shut up!"

Then, in a show of defiance, Peter removed his mask and tossed it aside. Even Hotshot was surprised. This wasn't the Spider-Man he had observed. He'd never remove that mask in the middle of a fight. Something was very different now.

"I'm through hiding," said Peter, spitting up blood, "Even if Aunt May and Mary Jane really are gone, I'm not gonna stop fighting. And no force, not even a real life demon, can stop me!"

Gritting his teeth in determination, Hotshot's supercharged aura erupted with rage. The soul stone was glowing brightly, invigorating the demon madman with great strength. Yet Peter remained poised to fight.

"You wanna die, Parker? Fine by me! You're suffering will only make me stronger! And you'll die by my hands knowing you failed everyone you ever cared for!"

"So be it," said Spider-Man without fear.

Clenching his fists, Hotshot lunged forth. All the training Slayer had given Peter would have to pay off now. He couldn't afford to be fancy here. He just had to win. And as he took a deep breath, the young vigilante let his spider sense guide him.

"DIEEEEEEEEE!"

With the agility of a spider, Spider-Man dodged Hotshot's incoming punch. It was so hard the demon madman's fist made a hole in the floor. He swifly turned around and tried to grab him, but the nimble vigilante slipped through his grasp and did a backwards handspring, hitting Hotshot right in the chin.

"You're gonna have to do better than that, pretty boy!" taunted Spider-Man.

"I'm just getting warmed up, punk!"

He tried to karate chop Peter with his free hand, but the agile teen bent back and avoided it as if it were a limbo stick. Hotshot tried to kick him, but he managed to roll to the side and avoid the blow. Still on the ground, he saw his window. With super human reflexes, Peter shot up and kicked Hotshot right between the legs. This time, he felt it.

"Ack!" grunted the demon.

"Guess that part of you is still human," grinned Peter.

With Hotshot stumbling, Spider-Man unleashed a barrage of punches and kicks all over Hotshot's demonic figure. Most of his body was like hardened volcanic rock, but Peter kept at it, ignoring the pain in his fists. Hotshot grew more enraged as he tried to counter, but Peter's spider sense kept him a step ahead and he stumbled back. It was very frustrating. Even Slayer couldn't avoid him this well. And the punches were starting to add up.

"You sick, demented excuse for a demon! I'll bet Satan himself thought you were a jerk!"

"Argh! I'm too strong! Even for them!" grunted Hotshot, enduring another blow to the face.

"Yeah right! With a face like yours, you're probably too ugly even for them! Me? I'm a New Yorker! Hell doesn't have anything you can't find downtown!"

Hotshot tried to grab the nimble vigilante, but Spider-Man easily slipped under his legs and jump kicked him in the back. The demonic figure stumbled, allowing Peter to make his move. Pouncing on his back, Spider-Man pounded away at his head. Hotshot howled with rage, but couldn't beat back the nimble teen. Falling to the ground, Hotshot was actually being beaten by a punk kid. It was mortifying, even for him. He was a figure of great evil. How could a mortal like Peter Parker get the better of him?

"Had…enough…demon?!" yelled Spider-Man in between punches.

"ERRRAAAAHHHHHHHHH!" howled Hotshot in frustration.

The soul stone suddenly came to life, glowing brilliantly as Spider-Man pounded away. Suddenly, he was knocked off Hotshot by a punishing kick from Vanessa Fisk. It was a dirty trick, but Hotshot could care less. It only took him a second to recover. And as he stared down the young vigilante, a sinister grin formed on his demonic face.

"Too bad your folks ain't here to see you fail!" yelled Hotshot, shooting up and grabbing him by the neck.

"Ack!" choked Peter, blood seeping down the side of his face.

The seven foot creature of darkness held the hapless vigilante high in the air, gazing at him with his demonic eyes. He was so enraged, yet eerily calm. A pestilent mortal was defying him, but his fate would be no different than the rest of his enemies. He was through playing games now. It had to end here.

"You're a kid, Parker. A freakin' kid. Don't you see? It's over! Your family, your love, your whole livelihood! The world hates you! Nobody trusts you! So why do you keep pestering me? Why can't you accept your fate?!"

Peter was choking on his own bile, every inch of his body stinging with hot pain. Yet he fought on, not giving into defeat. Even if his loved ones were gone, he wouldn't stop fighting. He couldn't allow a being this evil to succeed. Slayer showed him how to be a warrior. It was finally time to start fighting like one.

"Because…it's my responsibility!"

Hotshot's calm demeanor disappeared as his annoyance boiled over. Yet over with Slayer, still locked in battle with Elektra, he couldn't help but smile.

"Time to die, Spider-Man!" proclaimed Hotshot, "I'm gonna enjoy this!"

"Enjoy…THIS!"

Before Hotshot could react, Peter shot a load of webbing right into his eyes. The demon's reaction was all too human, falling back in shock as he stumbled in disarray. Spider-Man fell to the floor, coughing up blood and in a world of pain. But he wasn't done yet.

"You're going down, Hotshot!" yelled Spider-Man.

With a grunt, Hotshot ripped the webbing off his face just in time to see Spider-Man lunging towards him. Instinctively, he raised his hands and caught his fists in mid stride. It happened so fast that Hotshot didn't take note that he was still holding the soul stone. And as soon as Peter touched it, something that defied reality happened.

"What the…" grunted Hotshot.

The stone erupted in a pulse of bright light. Hotshot and Spider-Man were both consumed by the energy. Off to the side, Slayer saw what was going on and his all seeing eye flashed bright yellow.

"Wow…" he said, stuck in a grapple with Elektra, "Guess Hotshot forgot the stone knows no ownership. This should be interesting."

He couldn't let Peter go it alone. With a hard grunt he kicked Elektra off and ran towards the center of the church. The light show around Peter and the renegade demon raged on. Hotshot felt some of the power slipping away. It was going into Spiderman and healing his injuries. The cuts on his face faded and his muscles bulged beneath his costume.

"NO! LET GO OF MY STONE!" yelled Hotshot, finally pushing Peter off.

The young teen fell back, but the damage had been done. Whatever power resided in that stone affected Peter immediately. The stinging pain Hotshot had inflicted was gone. He felt a new rush of energy the likes of which he never felt before. It felt as though he could take on the world. Hell, he could even give Flash Thompson a run for his money.

"Wow! What a rush!" said Spider-Man, flexing his new muscles.

"Good job, Parker. Looks like Hotshot didn't read the whole text," said Slayer with a grin, "If he did, he'd know that the power of souls is indifferent. It goes wherever it can, even into a kid from Queens."

Hotshot grunted at his new weakness. He still felt the strength of the stone, but it wasn't as intense. Panting hard, he turned towards his minions.

"You two! Attack!" he yelled to the soulless Aunt May and Mary Jane.

Except this time, they did nothing. They just stood there indifferently.

"What are you waiting for?!" yelled the renegade demon, "Your master gave you an order!"

Spider-Man was confused. Near as he could tell, his aunt and girlfriend were still soulless drones. But they no longer followed Hotshot's will. A slow smile spread across Slayer's face, his all seeing eye revealing the reason.

"Looks like the tides have turned," grinned Slayer, "I think the ladies have a new master."

"New master?" said Peter, piecing it together.

But in his rage, Hotshot fought back.

"Not for long! Elektra! Vanessa!"

This time, his orders weren't ignored. Elektra and Vanessa attacked Spider-Man and Slayer. Instinctively, Peter scrambled.

"Uh…stop them?" he said to Mary Jane and Aunt May casually.

Without hesitation, the two women stepped in front of their new master and took the blunt end of the assault. Aunt May took on Vanessa and Mary Jane took on Elektra. Vanessa and May soon found themselves in an iron grapple while MJ fearlessly charged Eleketra, drawing her away from the central area. Without souls, will, or humanity it was a bitter stalemate. No minion would let their master down.

"Wow…this is indescribably cool," said Peter, standing with Slayer against their foe.

The final battle was upon them. Now it was just Hotshot verses Slayer and Spider-Man.

"Ready for the real party, Hotshot?" said Slayer, holding his sword at the ready.

"I'd ask you to come quietly, but this time I'd rather beat the crap out of you for all the pain you've put me through!"

Gripping the stone firmly, Hotshot regained his composure. He was wrought with frustration and anger. The fires of hell couldn't even compare to how angry he was. Hotshot was a demon. These two were just mortals. He couldn't die. They could.

"You punks are pathetic!" grunted Hotshot, "Need I remind you I still have this!"

The soul stone glowed brightly, casting an ominous aura throughout the church.

"I'm through playing around! No more games! This time I'm not holding back!"

"And neither will we," said Slayer.

"HRRRAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

The soul stone burned with intensity as Hotshot tapped every ounce of power he could from the ancient relic. His body was surrounded by a golden light, invigorating him with newfound strength. It didn't take an all seeing eye or a spider sense to see how strong he was. But like true warriors, Slayer and Spider-Man stepped up.

"Wow, talk about having a colorful personality," commented Spider-Man.

"Less talking, more fighting!" yelled Slayer, unleashing his attack.

Together, the two warriors fought Hotshot. Slayer struck first with a wave of slashes from his sword while Peter did a jump kick. Fueled by his hatred, Hotshot used the power of the soul stone to create a shield against Slayer's sword while knocking away Spider-Man's initial blow. But fueled with the power he siphoned off, Peter quickly recovered and fought on.

"Say cheese, Hotshot!" he said, hitting the demon with an uppercut while Slayer drop kicked him in the gut.

Spider-Man and Slayer didn't let up. They coordinated their efforts with Slayer slashing his demonic flesh while Peter hit him in the face. Hotshot thrashed about, but couldn't organize anything strong enough to counter his enemies. The two warriors charged with all their might, but despite these blows Hotshot was still invigorated by the soul stone and he could take everything they threw at him.

"Ha! Is that all you got?!"

Showing off his mastery of the power, Hotshot's evil eyes erupted in a fiery glow. Fueled by the soul stone, he unleashed a blast from his eyes that hit Peter head on and sent him flying.

"Ugh…that's new."

"I've got plenty more where that came from!" growled Hotshot, blocking another blow from Slayer.

"I take it we're not talking card tricks," grunted Slayer, "Guess I'll have to use some tricks of my own!"

Stepping back, the symbols atop Slayer's hands lit up. Clenching his fists, Slayer shot a blast of pure chi intense enough to combat the simmering power of the soul stone. Hotshot fell back, holding the stone as shield against the intense barrage. Windows shattered and candles flickered as the two combatants fought on. The bitter rivalry fueled their determination. Neither side would submit. Recovering from the blow, Peter looked on in awe at the light show before him. Even the four zombie women took notice.

"Ugh!" grunted Slayer, "Gotta…keep this…up!"

"Nice try, Jackie boy!" grinned Hotshot, "But even your magic can't beat the power of soul!"

With a hard grunt, Hotshot unleashed a counter burst that overwhelmed Slayer and knocked him to the ground.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!"

His armor tore under the force, gasping for air as he hit the floor. Hotshot remained standing, the soul stone glowing brilliantly. Slayer had gambled and lost. In the end Hotshot had the upper hand. He was no match for the power of soul.

"This has been a long time coming, Jack!" grunted Hotshot, hovering over the downed warrior, "You've been annoying the hell out of me for too long! It all ends here!"

Holding the stone over the warrior's body, an aura of golden light surrounded Hotshot and hit Slayer. The agony was instant.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" howled the warrior, paralyzed by pain.

"YES!" proclaimed Hotshot, "YOU'RE SOUL IS MINE, SLAYER! YOU CAN'T STOP ME! NOBODY CAN STOP ME! I AM DEMON AND MAN! I AM THE DARKNESS HELL COULDN'T HANDLE! YOU CAN'T STOP ME! HEAVEN CAN'T STOP ME! NOBODY CAN STOP ME! AHAHAHAHAHAHAH!"

Clenching his fists with rage, Peter Parker ignored the lingering sting in his body. This had to stop. Hotshot couldn't be allowed to continue this madness. He hurt him more than any other foe he had faced before. It was time to take a stand. It was now or never. And for once, Spider-Man's choice was clear.

Uncle Ben, if you're out there I'll need your help with this one.

Leaping into the air with all his might, Spiderman pulled off an acrobatic flip in mid air, putting him right over Hotshot's glowing figure. Focusing his mind on a single shot, Peter Parker let out his last line of web fluid right at the soul stone. And when he felt it make contact, he pulled with all his might.

"You lose Hotshot!" yelled Spider-Man.

"MY STONE?!" he exclaimed, his demonic eyes widening with shock.

But before the demonic figure could do anything to save his precious power, Peter slammed the small stone into the ground as hard as he could. And with a deafening bang, the ancient relic shattered. Suddenly, an intense glow surrounded both him and Hotshot. Intense pain followed.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" howled Hotshot.

"AUGH!" grunted Peter.

Panting hard, Slayer watched in amazement as a whirlwind of golden light inundated the church. Hotshot and Spider-Man were at ground zero, taking the full force of the chaos. Aunt May, Mary Jane, Vanessa Fisk, and Elektra all stopped their fighting and faced the light with indifferent gazes. Suddenly, four beacons of rainbow colored light emerged from Spider-Man and Hotshot. And in one last blinding flash, they engulfed the four enslaved women.

"Ugh…" they all grunted, the color returning to their skin as they collapsed unconscious.

When the light faded, the church reverted back to normal. The altar Hotshot had created for his ultimate bid for power was gone. The symbol he carved faded. Now all that was left was a weakened demon, cowardly gasping for air.

"No…all gone…it's all gone," panted Hotshot, his imposing form shriveling in defeat.

"You once had a soul, Hotshot," said Slayer, picking himself up and gripping his sword, "Every living thing is blessed with that gift. But you squandered your soul on greed and hatred. You ignored the balance good and evil must maintain. You got a taste of what it was like to be truly alive again. Now, you're going back where you belong."

Gritting his shark-like teeth with rage, Hotshot tried to reach up and grasp Slayer. But the loss of his power rendered him too weak. Only this time, it wasn't Slayer that had bested him. It was a punk kid in a costume who called himself Spider-Man.

"I'll…be back," grunted the demon madman.

Grasping his sword, Slayer severed Hotshot's head in a single slash. And in the face of pure chi, his demonic figure dissolved into dust.

"And I'll be ready," said Slayer.

Hotshot was gone. The battle was one. Slayer was sore beyond description, letting out a tired sigh as he put his sword back in his case. But his job wasn't done yet. Making his way over towards the tired Peter Parker, Slayer smiled and helped him up. Losing the soul power had been draining, but it was all worth it.

"You okay?" asked Slayer.

Peter rubbed his sore head and cast the warrior a bewildered look.

"Are you ever going to stop asking dumb questions?"

"It's what I do," sighed Slayer.

As his head stopped spinning, Peter attention quickly shifted towards his loved ones.

"Oh man! Mary Jane! Aunt May!" he said, rushing over to their unconscious bodies.

They weren't moving, but their skin was no longer cold and pale. Peter frantically felt around his girlfriend's neck for a pulse, his mind racing at the thought of losing the people he loved. He already lost his Uncle Ben. He didn't want to lose anyone else.

"Are…are they going to be okay?" asked Peter, softly cradling Mary Jane's head.

Slayer frantically scanned their spirits with his eye. The nature of the soul stone was so ambiguous. There was no telling if they had been soulless too long to be saved. But much to his relief, he saw that there was just enough spark within their spirits to bring them back from the brink.

"They'll be fine," said Jack, his eye flashing to confirm it, "They were lost…controlled by Hotshot's whim. I guess some souls are stronger than others."

His words brought a sense of relief like no other. Hugging Mary Jane close, a tear fell down Peter's face. He couldn't help but smile. He fought with all his heart and saved his loved ones. And for all the punishment he endured as Spider-Man, having people like Mary Jane and Aunt May in his life made it all so worth it.

"Did you know this was going to happen?" said Peter with a smile.

"Didn't have a clue," said Slayer with a humored grin, "I didn't know if you'd show up. I was ready to fight by myself, even if it meant a fight to the death. But you still showed. You made a choice even when you thought everyone you cared for was gone. You know what that says?"

"No. What?"

"You're a true warrior, Peter Parker. And don't you forget it."

The young vigilante from Queens couldn't help but smile. Through all his strife and struggles, Peter Parker had grown a lot. At times, he wasn't sure if he was a hero or just some kid in a costume. But now, holding his loved ones in his arms in triumph over a great evil, he was beyond all doubts. His path was clearer than ever. He was more than just a hero. He was a warrior.

* * *

HOTSHOT IS VANQUISHED! ONE CHAPTER LEFT! SO PLEASE REVIEW! 


	9. A New Path

**Soul Warriors  
Chapter 9: A New Path**

* * *

Night fell over New York as rain, thunder, and lightning erupted from the sky. But as the late hours set in, an eerie calm fell over the bustling city. The malevolent actions of Hotshot had been thwarted. Many innocent souls were now safe. However, few would ever know how close they came to oblivion.

One of the elite few who knew all too well was Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin of crime. Having given Hotshot the power he so recklessly embraced, he spent the rest of the night secluded in Vanessa's bedroom where nobody dared disturb him. His only hope rested with Spider-Man, a pesky kid who had caused him a lot of frustration. Eventually, Fisk succumbed to exhaustion and fell asleep in a chair next to his wife's empty bed. Images of Hotshot's demonic face haunted him. The memory of his wife's soul being stolen by that monster hung strong. No matter how he recalled it, this whole ordeal was his fault.

"Vanessa…" he groaned in his sleep.

Suddenly, a hard burst of thunder awoke the crime lord from his slumber. Gasping at the shock, he remembered his surroundings. But something was different this time.

"What the…"

A strange mist hung in the air. No windows had been opened. No alarms had been set off. Yet there was an ominous sensation within the room. And as Fisk gazed over the bed his mouth hung open with amazement.

"Vanessa!" Fisk exclaimed, feeling around her warm skin.

It was really her. His dying wife was back, her flesh now warm with life. However, something didn't feel right. Suddenly, a small slip of paper stuck to her shoulder with a familiar webbing substance caught his attention.

_Dear Fat Crime Lord:_

_Here's you're wife back, soul and all. Hotshot's gone and so is the stone. I don't know if its power fully cured her. But regardless, it should buy her some time, so I guess there's still hope. Just don't forget, you're the one who nearly killed her with your arrogance. And even though I helped you, I'm still going to see to it that your tuchas is locked away for your crimes. _

_Sincerely, your friendly neighborhood Spiderman_

His face contorting with frustration, the Kingpin crumpled up the paper and tossed it aside. Even after saving the woman he loved, Spiderman had a way of pushing his buttons. This ordeal may have been over, but his battle with Spider-Man was just beginning.

"Little punk," he muttered, "Still has no idea who he's dealing with."

Setting aside his anger, he focused his attention back on Vanessa. He had nearly destroyed everything trying to save her. But if it bought her more time in the end, then so be it.

"Don't worry, Vanessa. We'll find another way. I promise you with every penny and resource I've got…we'll find a way."

* * *

Peter Parker was flat out tired. He had just gone toe to toe with a demon and came out victorious. Hotshot had everything going for him. Yet even when he thought Aunt May and Mary Jane had been lost, he still found the strength to succeed. It didn't just make him a hero, it made him a warrior. And it was a great feeling.

When the battle ended, Slayer helped Peter put the pieces back together. First, he transported them back to Queens so he could put Aunt May and Mary Jane in their beds. Slayer used his power to make sure Mary Jane's mother didn't suspect anything and that the Kingpin got a special note from him. And while he took care of Vanessa Fisk and Elektra, Peter had a quiet moment with his loved ones. Having lost his parents, Uncle Ben, and Gwen to his life under the mask, fighting Hotshot had been a sobering experience. But as he laid Mary Jane safely in her bed, he couldn't help but smile.

"Hnn…Peter?" she groaned, stirring from her state.

Her head pounding, the beautiful redhead opened her eyes to see her boyfriend hovering over her with an affection smile.

"Hey," said Peter, his heart skipping a beat.

"Ugh, my head. Did I fall asleep watching afternoon talk shows again?"

"Told you that stuff was bad for you," grinned Peter.

"Guess that makes me a bad girlfriend for not listening."

"No, it just makes you another victim of mindless media trash."

Mary Jane laughed, the life clearly back within her soul. It brought a tear to Peter's eye, remembering how close he had come to losing her. Gently stroking her face, he soaked up her soothing warmth.

"Sorry…guess that means it's too late for a make-up date," she said, resting back on her bed.

"It's okay," assured Peter, "For all the times I've blown you off for being Spider-Man, I deserve it."

"You could have woken me up, you know."

"I know. But then I wouldn't get to tuck you in like this."

Mary Jane couldn't help but smile. Even in disappointment, he was still so sweet. She was lucky to have him in her life, more than she would ever know.

"I love you," she said, her drowsiness taking over.

"I love you too, Mary Jane," said Peter, placing a soft kiss on her forehead, "Sleep tight."

"Aren't you going to read me a bedtime story?"

"Maybe some other time, Princess," he laughed, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Can't hardly wait."

Smiling one last time, Mary Jane nodded off into a world of dream. For a moment, Peter watched her sleep peacefully. It tore at his heart that she came so close to death because of him, first with Norman Osborn and again with Hotshot. He saved her now, but what about the next time? It was a lot to think about, but Peter didn't dwell on it. For now, he just wanted to admire the beauty before him.

_I'll always be there for you, MJ…always._

* * *

After ensuring Mary Jane was tucked in, Peter returned to his house where he stashed away his costume and changed back into his clothes from earlier that day. He was so tired that he just wanted to sleep on through the weekend. But before he could rest, he made one last quick check on Aunt May.

After bringing her back, he carefully laid her on the couch in the living room so that she wouldn't be too startled when she woke up. He hoped she didn't have any memory of Hotshot. His horrid gaze still sent shivers down his spine, even though the demon madman was gone. But as long as MJ and Aunt May were safe, he could care less.

"Good night, Aunt May," he said, kissing her softly on the cheek, "Sorry you had to get caught up in this. I promise I'll protect you. I owe Uncle Ben that much."

Leaving her to sleep, Peter retreated downstairs to his lab where the lights were still on and his computer was still running. His clock radio read midnight, making sleep seem all the more appealing. But as he powered down his stuff, a familiar purple mist formed.

"Don't bother trying to surprise me, I know you're there," said Peter.

"Killjoy," smirked Jack, stepping out from the shadows.

He was no longer in his warrior attire. Now he was a simple man, dressed in old jeans and his Joe Montana San Francisco 49ers jersey. If Peter didn't know better, he'd mistake him for an average guy on the streets. But he already knew Jack Robinson was so much more.

"So what's the story?" asked Peter, "Am I in the clear or should I look into taking an impromptu flight to Fiji?"

"Sorry to cancel your vacation plans, but you're fine," grinned Jack, "I got Mrs. Fisk back safe and sound, although I doubt there will be little love lost between Spider-Man and the Kingpin."

"Figures," sighed Peter, "What about that Elektra chick?"

"She's fine too. Doesn't remember much, but she remembers enough to make her think twice about working for Fisk again. She's even offered to 'thank' me for freeing her from enslavement as a part of her personal assassin's code."

"Thank you? How does she…"

But Peter stopped upon quickly putting the pieces together. The grin on Jack's face said it all. Even after nearly having his soul stolen, his appetite for vice knew no bounds.

"Actually, I'd rather not know," said Peter.

"You sure? She's pretty hot."

"I'm sixteen, Jack. I have the internet."

"Fair enough," shrugged the warrior, "But trust me, when the day comes for you and MJ, you'll need my training more than ever."

"I'll…remember that," said Peter, blushing profusely.

"She'll thank you for it in the long run."

Wanting to get away from further embarrassment, Peter changed the subject.

"What about SHIELD and Colonel Eye Patch?" he inquired.

"You mean, Fury?" said Slayer, "Don't worry about him. Last I checked his boys were scoping out the church where it happened. But they won't find anything. Fury is a hell of a soldier, but an expert mystic he is not."

"Good. I'm already on thin ice with that guy as it is," said Peter with great relief, "So I guess everything's back to normal?"

"You're a wall crawling teenager who runs around in tights. How in the hell is that normal?" joked Slayer.

"Point taken," chuckled Peter, "But seriously…will Aunt May and Mary Jane remember any of this?"

"Not in the slightest," assured Slayer, "I cast a spell to make them think it was just a bad dream. Trust me they'll sleep easier at night not knowing what happened."

"That's a relief," said Peter, his demeanor shifting, "I know I'm not going to forget this mess anytime soon."

"I would hope not," said Slayer, placing a hand upon his pupil's shoulder, "You saved your family, your home, and found your inner warrior spirit. Even when everything was gone and there was nothing left to fight for, you took on the forces of darkness. You…a kid from Queens…swinging from skyscrapers and fighting for what he believes in."

Peter blushed again, but this time in a good way. Many times, he wondered if his powers were a burden rather than a blessing. His life had become so complicated under the mask. From his triumphs to his failures, he had always endured a great deal of doubt. But after going up against a real demon, he could be proud of what he accomplished. And in his heart, he knew Uncle Ben would be as well.

"You've got the heart of a warrior, kid. Don't ever let anybody tell you otherwise," said Jack, giving him a friendly punch to the chest.

"Thank you, Slayer. Does this make me a black belt or something?"

"No," said Jack, shaking his head, "It only means that I've taught you all I can. Now that you're a warrior, you can fight your battles on your own terms. You don't need me to show you anymore."

"But…you only trained me for a month," said Peter, shocked that this was the end, "Hell, I still can't beat you when we spar and…"

But Slayer silenced him. He had prepared for this moment since day one. Peter Parker was a truly special kid. But he was still so young in a world so complicated.

"Your path is clear now, Peter Parker," said the warrior, "I trained you in order to show you that path. Now that you've found the warrior within, I can't go any further. You must continue the journey on your own."

"But where else am I going to learn how to kick ass like you?"

"I taught you to teach yourself," Jack went on, "Now you must learn how to fight like Spider-Man, not Slayer. I'm sorry, but this is the way it has to be. A true warrior must find himself. You'll make mistakes along the way. Everybody does. But it's just a matter of how you learn from those mistakes and use them to grow stronger over time. That, my friend, is the essence of a true warrior."

A sad look fell over Peter, but at the same time he was hopeful. He still couldn't wrap his head around some of the concepts Jack had taught him. But he took comfort in knowing he had everything he needed to continue his training. Being a hero was nice, but being a warrior was much more meaningful.

"I take it this means you're leaving?" said Peter.

"You have your battles, I have mine," affirmed Slayer.

"But what if Hotshot or some other monster comes back and…"

"Don't worry about the future now, Parker," said Jack, cutting him off, "You've got too much to live for in the present."

"Right…sorry," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "Old habits die hard, I guess."

"I'm a drunk, kid. Believe me, I understand," laughed Slayer, "Just leave the darker fights to me and you take care of the crazy costumed nut jobs who try to blow up the city."

"Consider it done!" said Peter confidently.

The two warriors shared a good laugh. Their paths had crossed so unexpectedly, yet the impact they left on one another could never be expressed. Slayer showed Peter a new path in life. Many of the doubts that had plagued him under the mask now seemed miniscule. He had a new drive to take with him when he put on the mask. And he wouldn't forget that anytime soon.

For Slayer, a man who rarely made friends, it was nice knowing there was an ally out there. He had seen something within this kid from day one and now he had no more doubts. Peter Parker was special, more than even he could ever see.

"So I guess this is the point in the movie where I say 'so I guess this is goodbye?'" joked Peter.

"As if Hollywood could ever get it right," laughed Slayer, "But just promise me one more thing before I go."

"As long as it doesn't involve being your pot connection in New York, name it."

"Treasure your time with MJ," said Jack with a conflicted look, "She loves you more than anything. Don't make the same mistakes I did and cherish every last moment you have together. You've got a strength I'll never have, Peter. Promise me you'll use it well."

"I promise," said Peter, respectfully bowing to the man who had taught him so much.

Taking his pupil on his word, Jack Robinson prepared to make his final leave. Purple mist formed around him, taking him back to the shadows where he fought his battles. But before he faded, he cast Peter Parker a smile.

"Goodbye, Spider-Man. It was a great honor fighting by your side," he said as the mist consumed him.

"Same here, Slayer. Thanks for showing me the way."

"Just be sure you don't forget it. You have the power. It's just a matter of how you use it."

And with a final wave goodbye, the mysterious warrior known as Slayer faded from sight. All was quiet for Peter Parker once more, but the smile on his face never faded. He had been bitten by a spider, become a superhero, and gone up against a real demon. His life was a mess in and out of the mask, but now he was more certain than ever of his path.

_I'll say it once and I'll say it again…I've got some luck. I came close to losing everything this time, but I still put on the mask. Guess being a hero is a good excuse for running around in a costume…but being a warrior is much better way to honor Gwen and Uncle Ben. At least now I know I can keep on fighting without going crazy. And who knows? There just may be a future for Spider-Man yet._

Closing his trunk, giving his mask one last glimpse, Peter Parker retreated to bed for some well deserved rest. Tomorrow would bring a whole new set of challenges. No matter what he did, his fight never ceased. Only this time, he was ready to take it on. As a warrior, it wasn't just his responsibility…it was also his honor.

THE END

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AN: That's it! My first Spider-Man fic is over! What did you think? Please tell me! Send me your feedback via email or post it on the fanfiction website. I hope you enjoyed this fic. Look out for plenty more from me. Until next time, thank you all very much for reading and I wish you all the best.

SOUL WARRIORS IS OVER! BUT THE REVIEWS NEVER STOP!

_A soul is only as strong as the will it drives._


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